THE  MOUNTAINS 
OF    CALIFORNIA 


r^V^ 


JOHN     MUIFL 


PRIVATE    LIBRARY 
GUY  H.  HAYES 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


BY 

JOHN  MUIR 


ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PRELIMINARY  SKETCHES  AND 
PHOTOGRAPHS  FURNISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


TRew  anO  enlarges  e&ition 


NEW  YOEK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 


Copyright,  1394,  by  The  Century  Co. 
Copyright,  1911,  by  The  Century  Co. 

Copyright   renewed.    1922 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


T 


TO 

THE  MEMORY 

OF 

LOUIZA  STRENTZEL 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I  The  Sierra  Nevada 1 

II  The  Glaciers 20 

III  The  Snow 36 

IV  A  Near  View  of  the  High  Sierra 48 

V  The  Passes 74 

VI  The  Glacier  Lakes 98 

VII  The  Glacier  Meadows 125 

VIII  The  Forests 139 

IX  The  Douglas  Squirrel 226 

X  A  Wind-Storm  in  the  Forests 244 

XI  The  River  Floods 258 

XII  Sierra  Thunder  Storms 271 

XIII  The  Water-Ouzel      276 

XIV  The  Wild  Sheep 300 

XV  In  the  Sierra  Foot-Hills 325 

XVI  The  Bee-Pastures 338 

Index 383 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Hoofed  Locusts Frontispiece 

Mount  T am alpais— North  of  the  Golden  Gate    .  5 

Map  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 7 

Mount  Shasta 13 

Mount  Hood 19 

Map  of  the  Glacier  Country 23 

Mount  Rainier;  North  Puyallup  Glacier  from 

Eagle  Cliff 31 

Kolana  Rock,  Hetch-Hetchy  Valley 45 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1909 

General  Grant  Tree,  General  Grant  National 

Park 61 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1908 

Map  of  the  Yosemite  Valley 67 

Map  of  the  Yosemite  Valley,  Showing  Present 

Reservation  Boundary 77 

Rancheria  Falls,  Hetch-Hetchy  Valley    ...  87 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1909 

View  of  the  Mono  Plain  from  the  Foot  of  Bloody 

Canon 97 

Lake  Tenaya,  one  of  the  Yosemite  Fountains      .  102 

The  Death  of  a  Lake 107 

Shadow  Lake  (Merced  Lake),  Yosemite  National 

Park HI 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  19(1 
xi 


xii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Vernal  Fall,  Yosemite  Valley 115 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1907 

Lake  Starr  King 119 

View  in  the  Sierra  Forest 141 

Edge  of  the  Timber  Line  on  Mount  Shasta  .  .  143 
View  in  the  Main  Pine  Belt  of  the  Sierra  Forest  145 

Nut  Pine 147 

The  Grove  Form 149 

Lower  Margin  of  the  Main  Pine  Belt,  Showing 

Open  Character  of  Woods 151 

Sugar  Pine  on  Exposed  Ridge 157 

Young  Sugar  Pine  beginning  to  bear  Cones  .  .160 
Forest  of  Sequoia,  Sugar  Pine,  and  Douglas 

Spruce 161 

PlNUS   PONDEROSA 164 

Silver  Pine  210  Feet  High 166 

Incense  Cedar  in  its  Prime 171 

Forest  of  Grand  Silver  Firs 172 

View  of  Forest  of  the  Magnificent  Silver  Fir  .  175 
Silver-Fir  Forest  Growing  on  Moraines  of  the 

Hoffman  and  Tenaya  Glaciers 177 

Sequoia  Gigantea.    View  in  General  Grant 

National  Park 181 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1908 

Muir  Gorge.    Tuolumne  Canon,  Yosemite 

National  Park 191 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1909 

View  in  Tuolumne  Canon,  Yosemite  National 

Park 197 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1909 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xiii 

Page 

Juniper,  or  Red  Cedar 205 

Storm-Beaten  Junipers 207 

Photograph  by  Katherine  Hooker 

Storm-Beaten  Hemlock  Spruce,  Forty  Feet  High  208 

Group  of  Erect  Dwarf  Pines 212 

A  Dwarf  Pine 214 

Oak  Growing  among  Yellow  Pines 217 

Pate  Valley,  Showing  the  Oaks.    Tuolumne 

Canon,  Yosemite  National  Park 225 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1909 

Track  of  Douglas  Squirrel  once  Down  and  Up  a 

Pine-Tree  when  Showing  off  to  a  Spectator  231 
Seeds,  Wings,  and  Scale  of  Sugar  Pine  ....  234 

Trying  the  Bow 243 

A  Wind-Storm  in  the  California  Forests    .     .     .  245 
Yellow  Pine  and  Libocedrus 253 

Photograph  by  Katherine  Hooker 

Bridal  Veil  Falls,  Yosemite  Valley 273 

Photograph  by  W.  L.  Huber,  1907 

Water-Ouzel  Diving  and  Feeding 277 

One  of  the  Late-Summer  Feeding-Grounds  of  the 

Ouzel       285 

Ouzel  Entering  a  White  Current 287 

The  Ouzel  at  Home 293 

Yosemite  Birds,  Snow-Bound  at  the  Foot  of 

Indian  Canon 297 

Snow-Bound  on  Mount  Shasta 306 

Head  of  the  Merino  Ram 309 

Head  of  Rocky  Mountain  Wild  Sheep      ....  311 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Crossing  a  Canon  Stream 314 

Wild  Sheep  Jumping  over  a  Precipice      ....  319 

Indians  Hunting  Wild  Sheep 321 

A  Bee-Ranch  in  Lower  California 341 

Wild  Bee  Garden 357 

In  the  San  Gabriel  Valley.— White  Sage  .     .     .  365 
A  Bee-Ranch  on  a  Spur  of  the  San  Gabriel 

Range.— Cardinal  Flower 369 

Wild  Buckwheat.— A  Bee-Ranch  in  the  Wilder- 
ness      371 

A  Bee-Pasture  on  the  Moraine  Desert.— Spanish 

Bayonet 375 

A  Bee-Keeper  's  Cabin 379 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   SIERRA   NEVADA 

GO  where  you  may  within  the  bounds  of  Cali- 
fornia, mountains  are  ever  in  sight,  charming 
and  glorifying  every  landscape.  Yet  so  simple  and 
massive  is  the  topography  of  the  State  in  general 
views,  that  the  main  central  portion  displays  only 
one  valley,  and  two  chains  of  mountains  which  seem 
almost  perfectly  regular  in  trend  and  height :  the 
Coast  Range  on  the  west  side,  the  Sierra  Nevada  on 
the  east.  These  two  ranges  coining  together  in 
curves  on  the  north  and  south  inclose  a  magnificent 
basin,  with  a  level  floor  more  than  400  miles  long, 
and  from  35  to  60  miles  wide.  This  is  the  grand 
Central  Valley  of  California,  the  waters  of  which 
have  only  one  outlet  to  the  sea  through  the  Golden 
Grate.  But  with  this  general  simplicity  of  features 
there  is  great  complexity  of  hidden  detail.  The 
Coast  Range,  rising  as  a  grand  green  barrier  against 
the  ocean,  from  2000  to  8000  feet  high,  is  composed 
of  innumerable  forest-crowned  spurs,  ridges,  and 
rolling  hill-waves  which  inclose  a  multitude  of 
smaller  valleys;   some  looking  out  through  long, 

3 


4  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

forest-lined  vistas  to  the  sea ;  others,  with  but  few 
trees,  to  the  Central  Valley;  while  a  thousand  others 
yet  smaller  are  embosomed  and  concealed  in  mild, 
round-browed  hills,  each  with  its  own  climate,  soil, 
and  productions. 

Making  your  way  through  the  mazes  of  the  Coast 
Range  to  the  summit  of  any  of  the  inner  peaks  or 
passes  opjDOsite  San  Francisco,  in  the  clear  spring- 
time, the  grandest  and  most  telling  of  all  California 
landscapes  is  outspread  before  you.  At  your  feet 
lies  the  great  Central  Valley  glowing  golden  in  the 
sunshine,  extending  north  and  south  farther  than 
the  eye  can  reach,  one  smooth,  flowery,  lake-like  bed 
of  fertile  soil.  Along  its  eastern  margin  rises  the 
mighty  Sierra,  miles  in  height,  reposing  like  a 
smooth,  cumulous  cloud  in  the  sunny  sky,  and  so 
gloriously  colored,  and  so  luminous,  it  seems  to  be 
not  clothed  with  light,  but  wholly  composed  of  it, 
like  the  wall  of  some  celestial  city.  Along  the  top, 
and  extending  a  good  way  down,  you  see  a  pale, 
pearl-gray  belt  of  snow ;  and  below  it  a  belt  of  blue 
and  dark  purple,  marking  the  extension  of  the  for- 
ests ;  and  along  the  base  of  the  range  a  broad  belt 
of  rose-purple  and  yellow,  where  lie  the  miner's  gold- 
fields  and  the  foot-hill  gardens.  All  these  colored 
belts  blending  smoothly  make  a  wall  of  light  inef- 
fably fine,  and  as  beautiful  as  a  rainbow,  yet  firm 
as  adamant. 

When  I  first  enjoyed  this  superb  view,  one  glow- 
ing April  day,  from  the  summit  of  the  Pacheco  Pass, 
the  Central  Valley,  but  little  trampled  or  plowed  as 
yet,  was  one  furred,  rich  sheet  of  golden  com- 
posite, and  the  luminous  wall  of  the  mountains 


THE   SIERRA   NEVADA  5 

» 

shone  in  all  its  glory.  Then  it  seemed  to  trie  the 
Sierra,  should  be  called  not  the  Nevada,  or  Snowy 
Range,  but  the  Range  of  Light,  And  after  ten  years 
spent  in  the  heart  of  it,  rejoicing  and  wondering, 
bathing  in  its  glorious  floods  of  light,  seeing  the 
sunbursts  of  morning  among  the  icy  peaks,  the 
noonday  radiance  on  the  trees  and  rocks  and  snow, 
the  flush  of  the  alpenglow,  and  a  thousand  dashing 
waterfalls  with  their  marvelous  abundance  of  irised 
spray,  it  still  seems  to  me  above  all  others  the  Range 
of  Light,  the  most  divinely  beautiful  of  all  the  moun- 
tain-chains I  have  ever  seen. 

The  Sierra  is  about  500  miles  long,  70  miles  wide., 
and  from  7000  to  nearly  15,000  feet  high.  In  general 
views  no  mark  of  man  is  visible  on  it,  nor  anything 
to  suggest  the  richness  of  the  life  it  cherishes,  or  the 
depth  and  grandeur  of  its  sculpture.  None  of  its 
magnificent  forest-crowned  ridges  rises  much  above 
the  general  level  to  publish  its  wealth.  No  great  val- 
ley or  lake  is  seen,  or  river,  or  group  of  well-marked 
features  of  any  kind,  standing  out  in  distinct  pic- 
tures. Even  the  summit-peaks,  so  clear  and  high 
in  the  sky,  seem  comparatively  smooth  and  feature- 
less. Nevertheless,  glaciers  are  still. at  work  in  the 
shadows  of  the  peaks,  and  thousands  of  lakes  and 
meadows  shine  and  bloom  beneath  them,  and  the 
whole  range  is  furrowed  with  canons  to  a  depth  of 
from  2000  to  5000  feet,  in  which  once  flowed  ma- 
jestic glaciers,  and  in  which  now  flow  and  sing  a 
band  of  beautiful  rivers. 

Though  of  such  stupendous  depth,  these  famous 
canons  are  not  raw,  gloomy,  jagged-walled  gorges, 
savage  and  inaccessible.   With  rough  passages  here 


G  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  there  they  still  make  delightful  pathways  for  the 
mountaineer,  conducting  from  the  fertile  lowlands 
to  the  highest  icy  fountains,  as  a  kind  of  mountain 
streets  full  of  charming  life  and  light,  graded  and 
sculptured  by  the  ancient  glaciers,  and  presenting, 
throughout  all  their  courses,  a  rich  variety  of  novel 
and  attractive  scenery,  the  most  attractive  that  has 
yet  been  discovered  in  the  xnountain-ranges  of  the 
world. 

In  many  places,  especially  in  the  middle  region 
of  the  western  flank  of  the  range,  the  main  canons 
widen  into  spacious  valleys  or  parks,  diversified 
like  artificial  landscape-gardens,  with  charming 
groves  and  meadows,  and  thickets  of  blooming 
bushes,  while  the  lofty,  retiring  walls,  infinitely 
varied  in  form  and  sculpture,  are  fringed  with  ferns, 
flowering-plants  of  many  species,  oaks,  and  ever- 
greens, which  find  anchorage  on  a  thousand  narrow 
steps  and  benches;  while  the  whole  is  enlivened 
and  made  glorious  with  rejoicing  streams  that 
come  dancing  and  foaming  over  the  sunny  brows 
of  the  cliffs  to  join  the  shining  river  that  flows  in 
tranquil  beauty  down  the  middle  of  each  one  of 
them. 

The  walls  of  these  park  valleys  of  the  Yosemite 
kind  are  made  up  of  rocks  mountains  in  size,  partly 
separated  from  each  other  by  narrow  gorges  and 
side-canons;  and  they  are  so  sheer  in  front,  and  so 
compactly  built  together  on  a  level  floor,  that,  com- 
prehensively seen,  the  parks  they  inclose  look  like 
immense  halls  or  temples  lighted  from  above. 
Every  rock  seems  to  glow  with  life.  Some  lean 
back  in  majestic  repose;  others,  absolutely  sheer, 


Copyright,  19LI,  by  Wm   P.  Northrup.  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

MAP  OF  THE   SIERRA   NEVADA 


8  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

or  nearly  so,  for  thousands  of  feet,  advance  their 
brows  in  thoughtful  attitudes  beyond  their  com- 
panions, giving  welcome  to  storms  and  calms  alike, 
seemingly  conscious  yet  heedless  of  everything  go- 
ing on  about  them,  awful  in  stern  majesty,  types 
of  permanence,  yet  associated  with  beauty  of  the 
frailest  and  most  fleeting  forms ;  their  feet  set  in 
pine-groves  and  gay  emerald  meadows,  their  brows 
in  the  sky;  bathed  in  light,  bathed  in  floods  of 
singing  water,  while  snow-clouds,  avalanches,  and 
the  winds  shine  and  surge  and  wreathe  about  them 
as  the  years  go  by,  as  if  into  these  mountain  man- 
sions Nature  had  taken  pains  to  gather  her  choicest 
treasures  to  draw  her  lovers  into  close  and  confid- 
ing communion  with  her. 

Here,  too,  in  the  middle  region  of  deepest  canons 
are  the  grandest  forest-trees,  the  Sequoia,  king  of 
conifers,  the  noble  Sugar  and  Yellow  Pines,  Doug- 
las Spruce,  Libocedrus,  and  the  Silver  Firs,  each  a 
giant  of  its  kind,  assembled  together  in  one  and  the 
same  forest,  surpassing  all  other  coniferous  forests 
in  the  world,  both  in  the  number  of  its  species  and 
in  the  size  and  beauty  of  its  trees.  The  winds  flow 
in  melody  through  their  colossal  spires,  and  they  are 
vocal  everywhere  with  the  songs  of  birds  and  run- 
ning water.  Miles  of  fragrant  ceanothus  and  nian- 
zanita  bushes  bloom  beneath  them,  and  lily  gardens 
and  meadows,  and  damp,  ferny  glens  in  endless 
variety  of  fragrance  and  color,  compelling  the  ad- 
miration of  every  observer.  Sweeping  on  over 
ridge  and  valley,  these  noble  trees  extend  a  con- 
tinuous belt  from  end  to  end  of  the  range,  only 
slightly  interrupted  by  sheer-walled  canons  at  in- 


THE   SIERRA   NEVADA  9 

tervals  of  about  fifteen  and  twenty  miles.  Here 
the  great  burly  brown  bears  delight  to  roam,  har- 
monizing with  the  brown  boles  of  the  trees  be- 
neath which  they  feed.  Deer,  also,  dwell  here,  and 
find  food  and  shelter  in  the  ceanothus  tangles,  with 
a  multitude  of  smaller  people.  Above  this  region 
of  giants,  the  trees  grow  smaller  until  the  utmost 
limit  of  the  timber  line  is  reached  on  the  stormy 
mountain-slopes  at  a  height  of  from  ten  to  twelve 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  where  the  Dwarf  Pine 
is  so  lowly  and  hard  beset  by  storms  and  heavy 
snow,  it  is  pressed  into  flat  tangles,  over  the  tops  of 
which  we  may  easily  walk.  Below  the  main  forest 
belt  the  trees  likewise  diminish  in  size,  frost  and 
burning  drouth  repressing  and  blasting  alike. 

The  rose-purple  zone  along  the  base  of  the  range 
comprehends  nearly  all  the  famous  gold  region  of 
California.  And  here  it  was  that  miners  from  every 
country  under  the  sun  assembled  in  a  wild,  torrent- 
like  rush  to  seek  their  fortunes.  On  the  banks  of 
every  river,  ravine,  and  gully  they  have  left  their 
marks.  Every  gravel-  and  boulder-bed  has  been 
desperately  riddled  over  and  over  again.  But  in 
this  region  the  pick  and  shovel,  once  wielded  with 
savage  enthusiasm,  have  been  laid  away,  and  only 
quartz-mining  is  now  being  carried  on  to  any  con- 
siderable extent.  The  zone  in  general  is  made  up 
of  low,  tawny,  waving  foot-hills,  roughened  here  and 
there  with  brush  and  trees,  and  outcropping  masses 
of  slate,  colored  gray  and  red  with  lichens.  The 
smaller  masses  of  slate,  rising  abruptly  from  the 
dry,  grassy  sod  in  leaning  slabs,  look  like  ancient 
tombstones  in  a  deserted  burying-ground.   In  early 


10  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

spring,  say  from  February  to  April,  the  whole  of 
this  foot-hill  belt  is  a  paradise  of  bees  and  flowers. 
Refreshing  rains  then  fall  freely,  birds  are  busy 
building  their  nests,  and  the  sunshine  is  balmy  and 
delightful.  But  by  the  end  of  May  the  soil,  plants, 
and  sky  seem  to  have  been  baked  in  an  oven.  Most 
of  the  plants  crumble  to  dust  beneath  the  foot,  and 
the  ground  is  full  of  cracks ;  while  the  thirsty 
traveler  gazes  with  eager  longing  through  the  burn- 
ing glare  to  the  snowy  summits  looming  like  hazy 
clouds  in  the  distance. 

The  trees,  mostly  Quercus  Douglas'd  and  Finns 
Sabmiana,  thirty  to  forty  feet  high,  with  thin,  pale- 
green  foliage,  stand  far  apart  and  cast  but  little 
shade.  Lizards  glide  about  on  the  rocks  enjoying 
a  constitution  that  no  drouth  can  dry,  and  ants  in 
amazing  numbers,  whose  tiny  sparks  of  life  seem 
to  burn  the  brighter  with  the  increasing  heat, 
ramble  industriously  in  long  trains  in  search  of 
food.  Crows,  ravens,  magpies — friends  in  distress 
— gather  on  the  ground  beneath  the  best  shade- 
trees,  panting  with  drooping  wings  and  bills  wide 
open,  scarce  a  note  from  any  of  them  during  the 
midday  hours.  Quails,  too,  seek  the  shade  during 
the  heat  of  the  day  about  tepid  pools  in  the  chan- 
nels of  the  larger  mid-river  streams.  Rabbits  scurry 
from  thicket  to  thicket  among  the  ceanothus  bushes, 
and  occasionally  a  long-eared  hare  is  seen  cantering 
gracefully  across  the  wider  openings.  The  nights 
are  calm  and  dewless  during  the  summer,  and  a 
thousand  voices  proclaim  the  abundance  of  life,  not- 
withstanding the  desolating  effect  of  dry  sunshine 
on  the  plants  and  larger  animals.     The  hylas  make 


THE    SIERRA   NEVADA  1  1 

a  delightfully  pure  and  tranquil  music  after  sunset ; 
and  coyotes,  the  little,  despised  dogs  of  the  wilder- 
ness, brave,  hardy  fellows,  looking  like  withered 
wisps  of  hay,  bark  in  chorus  for  hours.  .Mining- 
towns,  most  of  them  dead,  and  a  few  living  ones 
with  bright  bits  of  cultivation  about  them,  occur  at 
long  intervals  along  the  belt,  and  cottages  covered 
with  climbing  roses,  in  the  midst  of  orange  and 
peach  orchards,  and  sweet-scented  hay-fields  in  fer- 
tile flats  where  water  for  irrigation  may  be  had. 
But  they  are  mostly  far  apart,  and  make  scarce 
any  mark  in  general  views. 

Every  winter  the  High  Sierra  and  the  middle 
forest  region  get  snow  in  glorious  abundance,  and 
even  the  foot-hills  are  at  times  whitened.  Then  all 
the  range  looks  like  a  vast  beveled  wall  of  purest 
marble.  The  rough  places  are  then  made  smooth, 
the  death  and  decay  of  the  year  is  covered  gently 
and  kindly,  and  the  ground  seems  as  clean  as  the 
sky.  And  though  silent  in  its  flight  from  the 
clouds,  and  when  it  is  taking  its  place  on  rock,  or 
tree,  or  grassy  meadow,  how  soon  the  gentle  snow 
finds  a  voice !  Slipping  from  the  heights,  gather- 
ing in  avalanches,  it  booms  and  roars  like  thunder, 
and  makes  a  glorious  show  as  it  sweeps  down  the 
mountain-side,  arrayed  in  long,  silken  streamers  and 
wreathing,  swirling  films  of  crystal  dust. 

The  north  half  of  the  range  is  mostly  covered 
with  floods  of  lava,  and  dotted  with  volcanoes  and 
craters,  some  of  them  recent  and  perfect  in  form, 
others  in  various  stages  of  decay.  The  south  half 
is  composed  of  granite  nearly  from  base  to  summit, 
while  a  considerable  number  of  peaks,  in  the  middle 


12  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

of  the  range,  are  capped  with  metamorphic  slates, 
among  which  are  Mounts  Dana  and  Gibbs  to  the 
east  of  Yosemite  Valley.  Mount  Whitney,  the  cul- 
minating point  of  the  range  near  its  southern  ex- 
tremity, lifts  its  helmet-shaped  crest  to  a  height 
of  nearly  14,700  feet.  Mount  Shasta,  a  colossal  vol- 
canic cone,  rises  to  a  height  of  14,440  feet  at  the 
northern  extremity,  and  forms  a  noble  landmark 
for  all  the  surrounding  region  within  a  radius  of  a 
hundred  miles.  Residual  masses  of  volcanic  rocks 
occur  throughout  most  of  the  granitic  southern  por- 
tion also,  and  a  considerable  number  of  old  volca- 
noes on  the  flanks,  especially  along  the  eastern  base 
of  the  range  near  Mono  Lake  and  southward.  But 
it  is  only  to  the  northward  that  the  entire  range, 
from  base  to  summit,  is  covered  with  lava. 

From  the  summit  of  Mount  Whitney  only  granite 
is  seen.  Innumerable  peaks  and  spires  but  little 
lower  than  its  own  storm-beaten  crags  rise  in 
groups  like  forest-trees,  in  full  view,  segregated  by 
canons  of  tremendous  depth  and  ruggedness.  On 
Shasta  nearly  every  feature  in  the  vast  view  speaks 
of  the  old  volcanic  fires.  Far  to  the  northward,  in 
Oregon,  the  icy  volcanoes  of  Mount  Pitt  and  the 
Three  Sisters  rise  above  the  dark  evergreen  woods. 
Southward  innumerable  smaller  craters  and  cones 
are  distributed  along  the  axis  of  the  range  and  on 
each  flank.  Of  these,  Lassen's  Butte  is  the  highest, 
being  nearly  11,000  feet  above  sea-level.  Miles  of 
its  flanks  are  reeking  and  bubbling  with  hot  springs, 
many  of  them  so  boisterous  and  sulphurous  they 
seem  ever  ready  to  become  spouting  geysers  like 
those  of  the  Yellowstone. 


;,,.;.-■:,.    ■     ■  - 


r.ipyrisht.  In   Inderwood  &  Underwood,  N.  V. 


MOUNT  SHASTA. 


THE   SIERRA  NEVADA  13 

The  Cinder  Cone  near  marks  the  most  recent  vol- 
canic eruption  in  the  Sierra.  It  is  a  symmetrical 
truncated  cone  about  700  feet  high,  covered  with 
gray  cinders  and  ashes,  and  has  a  regular  unchang<  m  I 
crater  on  its  summit,  in  which  a  few  small  Two- 
leaved  Pines  are  growing.  These  show  that  the  age 
of  the  cone  is  not  less  than  eighty  years.  It  stands 
between  two  lakes,  which  a  short  time  ago  were 
one.  Before  the  cone  was  built,  a  flood  of  rough 
vesicular  lava  was  poured  into  the  lake,  cutting  it 
in  two,  and,  overflowing  its  banks,  the  fiery  flood 
advanced  into  the  pine-woods,  overwhelming  the 
trees  in  its  way,  the  charred  ends  of  some  of  which 
may  still  be  seen  projecting  from  beneath  the  snout 
of  the  lava-stream  where  it  came  to  rest.  Later 
still  there  was  an  eruption  of  ashes  and  loose  ob- 
sidian cinders,  probably  from  the  same  vent,  which, 
besides  forming  the  Cinder  Cone,  scattered  a  heavy 
shower  over  the  surrounding  woods  for  miles  to  a 
depth  of  from  six  inches  to  several  feet. 

The  history  of  this  last  Sierra  eruption  is  also  pre- 
served in  the  traditions  of  the  Pitt  River  Indians. 
They  tell  of  a  fearful  time  of  darkness,  when  the  sky 
was  black  with  ashes  and  smoke, that  threatened 
every  living  thing  with  death,  and  that  when  at 
length  the  sun  appeared  once  more  it  was  red  like 
blood. 

Less  recent  craters  in  great  numbers  roughen  the 
adjacent  region;  some  of  them  with  lakes  in  their 
throats,  others  overgrown  with  trees  and  flowers, 
Nature  in  these  old  hearths  and  firesides  having 
literally  given  beauty  for  ashes.  On  the  northwest 
side  of  Mount  Shasta  there  is  a  subordinate  cone 


14  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

about  3000  feet  below  the  summit,  which  has  been 
active  subsequent  to  the  breaking  up  of  the  main 
ice-cap  that  once  covered  the  mountain,  as  is  shown 
by  its  comparatively  unwasted  crater  and  the 
streams  of  unglaciated  lava  radiating  from  it.  The 
main  summit  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  in  diameter, 
bounded  by  small  crumbling  peaks  and  ridges, 
among  which  we  seek  in  vain  for  the  outlines  of  the 
ancient  crater. 

These  ruinous  masses,  and  the  deep  glacial 
grooves  that  flute  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  show 
that  it  has  been  considerably  lowered  and  wasted 
by  ice ;  how  much  we  have  no  sure  means  of  know- 
ing. Just  below  the  extreme  summit  hot  sulphu- 
rous gases  and  vapor  issue  from  irregular  fissures, 
mixed  with  spray  derived  from  melting  snow,  the 
last  feeble  expression  of  the  mighty  force  that  built 
the  mountain.  Not  in  one  great  convulsion  was 
Shasta  given  birth.  The  crags  of  the  summit  and 
the  sections  exposed  by  the  glaciers  down  the  sides 
display  enough  of  its  internal  framework  to  prove 
that  comparatively  long  periods  of  quiescence  in- 
tervened between  many  distinct  eruptions,  during 
which  the  cooling  lavas  ceased  to  flow,  and  became 
permanent  additions  to  the  bulk  of  the  growing 
mountain.  With  alternate  haste  and  deliberation 
eruption  succeeded  eruption  till  the  old  volcano  sur- 
passed even  its  present  sublime  height. 

Standing  on  the  icy  top  of  this,  the  grandest  of 
all  the  fire-mountains  of  the  Sierra,  we  can  hardly 
fail  to  look  forward  to  its  next  eruption.  Gardens, 
vineyards,  homes  have  been  planted  confidingly  on 
the  flanks  of  volcanoes  which,  after  remaining  stead- 


THE   SIERRA   NEVADA  1") 

fast  for  ages,  have  suddenly  blazed  into  violent  ac- 
tion, and  poured  forth  overwhelming  floods  of  fire 
It  is  known  that  more  than  a  thousand  j^ears  oi 
cool  calm  have  intervened  between  violent  erup- 
tions. Like  gigantic  geysers  spouting  molten  rock 
instead  of  water,  volcanoes  work  and  rest,  and  we 
have  no  sure  means  of  knowing  whether  they  are 
dead  when  still,  or  only  sleeping. 

Along  the  western  base  of  the  range  a  telling 
series  of  sedimentary  rocks  containing  the  early 
history  of  the  Sierra  are  now  being  studied.  But 
leaving  for  the  present  these  first  chapters,  we  sec 
that  only  a  very  short  geological  time  ago,  just  be- 
fore the  coming  on  of  that  winter  of  winters  called 
the  glacial  period,  a  vast  deluge  of  molten  rocks 
poured  from  many  a  chasm  and  crater  on  the  flanks 
and  summit  of  the  range,  filling  lake  basins  and 
river  channels,  and  obliterating  nearly  every  exist- 
ing feature  on  the  northern  portion.  At  length  these 
all-destroying  floods  ceased  to  flow.  But  while  the 
great  volcanic  cones  built  up  along  the  axis  still 
burned  and  smoked,  the  whole  Sierra  passed  under 
the  domain  of  ice  and  snow.  Then  over  the  bald, 
featureless,  fire-blackened  mountains,  glaciers  be- 
gan to  crawl,  covering  them  from  the  summits  to 
the  sea  with  a  mantle  of  ice;  and  then  with  in- 
finite deliberation  the  work  went  on  of  sculptur- 
ing the  range  anew.  These  mighty  agents  of  ero- 
sion, halting  never  through  unnumbered  centuries, 
crushed  and  ground  the  flinty  lavas  and  granites 
beneath  their  crystal  folds,  wasting  and  building 
until  in  the  fullness  of  time  the  Sierra  was  born 
again,  brought  to  light  nearly  as  we  behold  it  to- 


If)  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

day,  with  glaciers  and  snow-crushed  pines  at  the 
top  of  the  range,  wheat-fields  and  orange-groves  a1 

Hit'  foot  of  it. 

This  change  from  icy  darkness  and  deal])  to  life 
and  beauty  was  slow,  as  we  count  time,  and  is  still 
going  on,  north  and  south,  over  all  the  world  wher- 
ever glaciers  exist,  whether  in  the  form  of  distinct 
rivers,  as  in  Switzerland,  Norway,  the  mountains  of 
Asia,  and  the  Pacific  Coast;  or  in  continuous  mant- 
ling folds,  as  in  portions  of  Alaska,  Greenland, 
Franz-Joseph-Land, Nova  Zembla,  Spitzbergen,  and 
the  lands  about  the  South  Pole.  But  in  no  country, 
as  far  as  I  know,  may  these  majestic  changes  be 
studied  to  better  advantage  than  in  the  plains  and 
mountains  of  California. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  glacial  period,  when  the 
snow-clouds  became  less  fertile  and  the  melting 
waste  of  sunshine  became  greater,  the  lower  folds 
of  the  ice-sheet  in  California,  discharging  fleets  of 
icebergs  into  the  sea,  began  to  shallow  and  recede 
from  the  lowlands,  and  then  move  slowly  up  the 
Hanks  of  the  Sierra  in  compliance  with  the  changes 
of  climate.  The  great  white  mantle  on  the  moun- 
tains broke  up  into  a  series  of  glaciers  more  or  less 
distinct  and  river-like,  with  many  tributaries,  and 
these  again  were  melted  and  divided  into  still 
smaller  glaciers,  until  now  only  a  few  of  the  small- 
est residual  topmost  branches  of  the  grand  system 
exist  on  the  cool  slopes  of  the  summit  peaks. 

Plants  and  animals,  biding  their  time,  closely 
followed  the  retiring  ice,  bestowing  quick  and 
joyous  animation  on  the  new-born  landscapes. 
Pine-trees  marched  no  the  sun-wanned  moraines  in 


THE   SIERRA   NEVADA  1  i 

long,  hopeful  files,  taking  the  ground  and  establish- 
ing themselves  as  soon  as  it  was  ready  for  them; 
brown-spiked  sedges  fringed  the  shores  of  the  new- 
born lakes;  young  rivers  roared  in  the  abandoned 
channels  of  the  glaciers;  flowers  bloomed  around 
the  feet  of  the  great  burnished  domes, —  while  with 
quick  fertility  mellow  beds  of  soil,  settling  and 
warming,  offered  food  to  multitudes  of  Nature's 
waiting  children,  great  and  small,  animals  as  well  as 
plants:  mice,  squirrels,  marmots,  deer,  bears,  ele- 
phants, etc.  The  ground  burst  into  bloom  with 
magical  rapidity,  and  the  young  forests  into  bird- 
song  :  life  in  every  form  warming  and  sweetening 
and  growing  richer  as  the  years  passed  away  over 
the  mighty  Sierra  so  lately  suggestive  of  death  and 
consummate  desolation  only. 

It  is  hard  without  long  and  loving  study  to  realize 
the  magnitude  of  the  work  done  on  these  mountains 
during  the  last  glacial  period  by  glaciers,  which  are 
only  streams  of  closely  compacted  snow-crystals. 
Careful  study  of  the  phenomena  presented  goes  to 
show  that  the  pre-glacial  condition  of  the  range 
was  comparatively  simple :  one  vast  wave  of  stone 
in  which  a  thousand  mountains, .  domes,  canons, 
ridges,  etc.,  lay  concealed.  And  in  the  development 
of  these  Nature  chose  for  a  tool  not  the  earthquake 
or  lightning  to  rend  and  split  asunder,  not  the 
stormy  torrent  or  eroding  rain,  but  the  tender  snow- 
flowers  noiselessly  falling  through  unnumbered  cen- 
turies, the  offspring  of  the  sun  and  sea.  Laboring 
harmoniously  in  united  strength  they  crushed  and 
ground  and  wore  away  the  rocks  in  their  march, 
makinjar  vast  beds  of  soil,  and  at  the  same  time  de- 


18  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

veloped  and  fashioned  the  landscapes  into  the  de- 
lightful variety  of  hill  and  dale  and  lordly  moun- 
tain that  mortals  call  beauty.  Perhaps  more  than  a 
mile  in  average  depth  has  the  range  been  thus  de- 
graded during  the  last  glacial  period, —  a  quantity  of 
mechanical  work  almost  inconceivably  great.  And 
our  admiration  must  be  excited  again  and  again  as 
we  toil  and  study  and  learn  that  this  vast  job  of 
rockwork,  so  far-reaching  in  its  influences,  was  done 
by  agents  so  fragile  and  small  as  are  these  flowers 
of  the  mountain  clouds.  Strong  only  by  force  of 
numbers,  they  carried  away  entire  mountains,  par- 
ticle by  particle,  block  by  block,  and  cast  them  into 
the  sea;  sculptured,  fashioned,  modeled  all  the 
range,  and  developed  its  predestined  beauty.  All 
these  new  Sierra  landscapes  were  evidently  predes- 
tined, for  the  physical  structure  of  the  rocks  on 
which  the  features  of  the  scenery  depend  was  ac- 
quired while  they  lay  at  least  a  mile  deep  below 
the  pre-glacial  surface.  And  it  was  while  these  fea- 
tures were  taking  form  in  the  dejjths  of  the  range, 
the  particles  of  the  rocks  marching  to  their  ap- 
pointed places  in  the  dark  with  reference  to  the  c<  >m- 
ing  beauty,  that  the  particles  of  icy  vapor  in  the 
sky  marching  to  the  same  music  assembled  to  bring 
them  to  the  light.  Then,  after  their  grand  task  was 
done,  these  bands  of  snow-flowers,  these  mighty 
glaciers,  were  melted  and  removed  as  if  of  no  more 
importance  than  dew  destined  to  last  but  an  hour. 
Few,  however,  of  Nature's  agents  have  left  monu- 
ments so  noble  and  enduring  as  they.  The  great 
granite  domes  a  mile  high,  the  canons  as  deep,  the 
noble  peaks,  the  Yosemite  valleys,  these,  and  indeed 


upy right,  by  I'udcrwouii  &  Underwood,  N.  ^  . 


MOUNT   HOOD. 


THE   SIERRA   NEVADA  19 

nearly  all  other  features  of  the  Sierra  scenery,  are 
glacier  monuments. 

Contemplating  the  works  of  these  flowers  of  the 
sky,  one  may  easily  fancy  them  endowed  with  life : 
messengers  sent  down  to  work  in  the  mountain 
mines  on  errands  of  divine  love.  Silently  flying 
through  the  darkened  air,  swirling,  glinting,  to  their 
appointed  places,  they  seem  to  have  taken  counsel 
together,  saying,  "  Come,  we  are  feeble ;  let  us  help 
one  another.  We  are  many,  and  together  we  will  be 
strong.  Marching  in  close,  deep  ranks,  let  us  roll 
away  the  stones  from  these  mountain  sepulchers, 
and  set  the  landscapes  free.  Let  us  uncover  these 
clustering  domes.  Here  let  us  carve  a  lake  basin ; 
there,  a  Yosemite  Valley ;  here,  a  channel  for  a  river 
with  fluted  steps  and  brows  for  the  plunge  of  song- 
ful cataracts.  Yonder  let  us  spread  broad  sheets 
of  soil,  that  man  and  beast  may  be  fed;  and  here 
pile  trains  of  boulders  for  pines  and  giant  Sequoias. 
Here  make  ground  for  a  meadow ;  there,  for  a  garden 
and  grove,  making  it  smooth  and  fine  for  small 
daisies  and  violets  and  beds  of  heathy  bryanthus, 
spicing  it  well  with  crystals,  garnet  feldspar,  and 
zircon."  Thus  and  so  on  it  has  oftentimes  seemed 
to  me  sang  and  planned  and  labored  the  hearty 
snow-flower  crusaders ;  and  nothing  that  I  can  write 
can  possibly  exaggerate  the  grandeur  and  beauty 
of  their  work.  Like  morning  mist  they  have 
vanished  in  sunshine,  all  save  the  few  small  com- 
panies that  still  linger  on  the  coolest  mountain- 
sides, and,  as  residual  glaciers,  are  still  busily  at  work 
completing  the  last  of  the  lake  basins,  the  last  beds  of 
soil,  and  the  sculpture  of  some  of  the  highest  peaks. 


CHAPTER  II 


THE   GLAOIEKS 


OF  the  small  residual  glaciers  mentioned  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  I  have  found  sixty-five  in 
that  portion  of  the  range  lying  between  latitude 
36°  30'  and  39°.  They  occur  singly  or  in  small 
groups  on  the  north  sides  of  the  peaks  of  the  High 
Sierra,  sheltered  beneath  broad  frosty  shadows,  in 
amphitheaters  of  their  own  making,  where  the 
snow,  shooting  down  from  the  surrounding  heights 
in  avalanches,  is  most  abundant.  Over  two  thirds 
of  the  entire  number  lie  between  latitude  37°  and 
38°,  and  form  the  highest  fountains  of  the  San 
Joaquin,  Merced,  Tuolumne,  and  Owen's  rivers. 

The  glaciers  of  Switzerland,  like  those  of  the 
Sierra,  are  mere  wasting  remnants  of  mighty  ice- 
floods  that  once  filled  the  great  valleys  and  poured 
into  the  sea.  So,  also,  are  those  of  Norway,  Asia, 
and  South  America.  Even  the  grand  continuous 
mantles  of  ice  that  still  cover  Greenland,  Spits- 
bergen, Nova  Zembla,  Franz-Joseph-Land,  parts  of 
Alaska,  and  the  south  polar  region  are  shallowing 
and  shrinking.  Every  glacier  in  the  world  is  smaller 
than  it  once  was.  All  the  world  is  growing  warmer, 
or  the  crop  of  snow-flowers  is  diminishing.  But  in 
contemplating  the  condition  of  the  glaciers  of  the 


THE   GLACIERS  21 

world,  we  must  bear  in  mind  while  trying  to  ac- 
count for  the  changes  going  on  that  tin*  same  sun- 
shine that  wastes  them  builds  them.  Every  glacier 
records  the  expenditure  of  an  enormous  amount  of 
sun-heat  in  lifting  the  vapor  for  the  snow  of  which 
it  is  made  from  the  ocean  to  the  mountains,  as 
Tyndall  strikingly  shows. 

The  number  of  glaciers  in  the  Alps,  according  to 
the  Schlagintweit  brothers,  is  1100,  of  which  100  may 
be  regarded  as  primary,  and  the  total  area  of  ice, 
snow,  and  neve  is  estimated  at  1177  square  miles, 
or  an  average  for  each  glacier  of  little  more  than 
one  square  mile.  On  the  same  authority,  the  average 
height  above  sea-level  at  which  they  melt  is  about 
7414  feet.  The  Grrindelwald  glacier  descends  below 
4000  feet,  and  one  of  the  Mont  Blanc  glaciers  reaches 
nearly  as  low  a  point.  One  of  the  largest  of  the 
Himalaya  glaciers  on  the  head  waters  of  the  Granges 
does  not,  according  to  Captain  Hodgson,  descend 
below  12,914  feet.  The  largest  of  the  Sierra  glaciers 
on  Mount  Shasta  descends  to  within  9500  feet  of 
the  level  of  the  sea,  which,  as  far  as  I  have  observed, 
is  the  lowest  point  reached  by  any  glacier  within 
the  bounds  of  California,  the  average  height  of  all 
being  not  far  from  11,000  feet. 

The  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the  glacial 
conditions  of  the  Sierra  from  the  time  of  greatest 
extension  is  well  illustrated  by  the  series  of  glaciers 
of  every  size  and  form  extending  along  the  moun- 
tains of  the  coast  to  Alaska.  A  general  explora- 
tion of  this  instructive  region  shows  that  to  the 
north  of  California,  through  Oregon  and  Washing- 
ton, groups  of  active  glaciers  still  exist  on  all  the 


22  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

high  volcanic  cones  of  the  Cascade  Range, — Mount 
Pitt,  the  Three  Sisters,  Mounts  Jefferson,  Hood,  St. 
Helens,  Adams,  Rainier,  Baker,  and  others, — some 
of  them  of  considerable  size,  though  none  of  them 
approach  the  sea.  Of  these  mountains  Rainier,  in 
"Washington,  is  the  highest  and  iciest.  Its  dome-like 
summit,  between  14,000  and  15,000  feet  high,  is 
capped  with  ice,  and  eight  glaciers,  seven  to  twelve 
miles  long,  radiate  from  it  as  a  center,  and  form 
the  sources  of  the  principal  streams  of  the  State. 
The  lowest-descending  of  this  fine  group  flows 
through  beautiful  forests  to  within  3500  feet  of  the 
sea-level,  and  sends  forth  a  river  laden  with  glacier 
mud  and  sand.  On  through  British  Columbia  and 
southeastern  Alaska  the  broad,  sustained  mountain- 
chain,  extending  along  the  coast,  is  generally  glacier- 
bearing.  The  upper  branches  of  nearly  all  the  main 
canons  and  fiords  are  occupied  by  glaciers,  which 
gradually  increase  in  size,  and  descend  lower  until 
the  high  region  between  Mount  Fairweather  and 
Mount  St.  Elias  is  reached,  where  a  considerable 
number  discharge  into  the  waters  of  the  ocean. 
This  is  preeminently  the  ice-land  of  Alaska  and  of 
the  entire  Pacific  Coast. 

Northward  from  here  the  glaciers  gradually  di- 
minish in  size  and  thickness,  and  melt  at  higher 
levels.  In  Prince  William  Sound  and  Cook's  Inlet 
many  fine  glaciers  are  displayed,  pouring  from  the 
surrounding  mountains ;  but  to  the  north  of  latitude 
62°  few,  if  any,  glaciers  remain,  the  ground  being 
mostly  low  and  the  snowfall  light.  Between  lati- 
tude 56°  and  60°  there  are  probably  more  than  5000 
glaciers,  not  counting  the  smallest.     Hundreds  of 


Copyright.  18»7  ami  1902,  by  The  Century  C< 

MAP   OP   THE  GLACIER   COUNTRY 


24  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  largest  size  descend  through  the  forests  to  the 
level  of  the  sea,  or  near  it,  though  as  far  as  my 
own  observations  have  reached,  after  a  pretty 
thorough  examination  of  the  region,  not  more  than 
twenty-five  discharge  icebergs  into  the  sea.  All 
the  long  high- walled  fiords  into  which  these  great 
glaciers  of  the  first  class  flow  are  of  course  crowded 
with  icebergs  of  every  conceivable  form,  which  are 
detached  with  thundering  noise  at  intervals  of  a 
few  minutes  from  an  imposing  ice-wall  that  is 
thrust  forward  into  deep  water.  But  these  Pacific 
Coast  icebergs  are  small  as  compared  with  those  of 
Greenland  and  the  Antarctic  region,  and  only  a  few 
of  them  escape  from  the  intricate  system  of  chan- 
nels, with  which  this  portion  of  the  coast  is  fringed, 
into  the  open  sea.  Nearly  all  of  them  are  swashed 
and  drifted  by  wind  and  tide  back  and  forth  in  the 
fiords  until  finally  melted  by  the  ocean  water,  the 
sunshine,  the  warm  winds,  and  the  copious  rains  of 
summer.  Only  one  glacier  on  the  coast,  observed 
by  Prof.  Russell,  discharges  its  bergs  directly  into 
the  open  sea,  at  Icy  Cape,  opposite  Mount  St.  Elias. 
The  southernmost  of  the  glaciers  that  reach  the 
sea  occupies  a  narrow,  picturesque  fiord  about 
twenty  miles  to  the  northwest  of  the  mouth  of  the 
Stikeen  River,  in  latitude  56°  50".  The  fiord  is  called 
by  the  natives  "Hutli,"  or  Thunder  Bay,  from  the 
noise  made  by  the  discharge  of  the  icebergs.  About 
one  degree  farther  north  there  are  four  of  these 
complete  glaciers,  discharging  at  the  heads  of  the 
long  arms  of  Holkam  Bay.  At  the  head  of  the 
Tahkoo  Inlet,  still  farther  north,  there  is  one ;  and 
at  the  head  and  around  the  sides  of  Glacier  Bay, 


THE  GLACIERS  -•> 

trending  in  a  general  northerly  direction  from 
Cross  Sound  in  latitude  58°  to  59°,  there  are  seven 
of  these  complete  glaciers  pouring  bergs  into  the 
bay  and  its  branches,  and  keeping  up  an  eternal 
thundering.  The  largest  of  this  group,  the  Muir, 
has  upward  of  200  tributaries,  and  a  width  below 
the  confluence  of  the  main  tributaries  of  about 
twenty-five  miles.  Between  the  west  side  of  this 
icy  bay  and  the  ocean  all  the  ground,  high  and  low, 
excepting  the  peaks  of  the  Fairweather  Range,  is 
covered  with  a  mantle  of  ice  from  1000  to  probably 
3000  feet  thick,  which  discharges  by  many  distinct 
mouths. 

This  fragmentary  ice-sheet,  and  the  immense 
glaciers  about  Mount  St.  Elias,  together  with  the 
multitude  of  separate  river-like  glaciers  that  load 
the  slopes  of  the  coast  mountains,  evidently  once 
formed  part  of  a  continuous  ice-sheet  that  flowed 
over  all  the  region  hereabouts,  and  only  a  compara- 
tively short  time  ago  extended  as  far  southward 
as  the  mouth  of  the  Strait  of  Juan  de  Fuca,  prob- 
ably farther.  All  the  islands  of  the  Alexander 
Archipelago,  as  well  as  the  headlands  and  prom- 
ontories of  the  mainland,  display  telling  traces  of 
this  great  mantle  that  are  still  fresh  and  unmistak- 
able. They  all  have  the  forms  of  the  greatest 
strength  with  reference  to  the  action  of  a  vast  rigid 
press  of  oversweeping  ice  from  the  north  and  north- 
west, and  their  surfaces  have  a  smooth,  rounded, 
overrubbed  appearance,  generally  free  from  angles. 
The  intricate  labyrinth  of  canals,  channels,  straits, 
passages,  sounds,  narrows,  etc ,  between  the  islands, 
and  extending  into  the  mainland,  of  course  mani- 


20  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

fest  in  their  forms  and  trends  and  general  char- 
acteristics the  same  subordination  to  the  grinding 
action  of  universal  glaciation  as  to  their  origin,  and 
differ  from  the  islands  and  banks  of  the  fiords  only 
in  being  portions  of  the  pre-glacial  margin  of  the 
continent  more  deeply  eroded,  and  therefore  covered 
by  the  ocean  waters  which  flowed  into  them  as  the 
ice  was  melted  out  of  them.  The  formation  and 
extension  of  fiords  in  this  manner  is  still  going 
on,  and  may  be  witnessed  in  many  places  in  Glacier 
Bay,  Yakutat  Bay,  and  adjacent  regions.  That  the 
domain  of  the  sea  is  being  extended  over  the  land 
by  the  wearing  away  of  its  shores,  is  well  known, 
but  in  these  icy  regions  of  Alaska,  and  even  as  far 
south  as  Vancouver  Island,  the  coast  rocks  have 
been  so  short  a  time  exposed  to  wave-action  they 
are  but  little  wasted  as  yet.  In  these  regions  the 
extension  of  the  sea  effected  by  its  own  action  in 
post-glacial  time  is  scarcely  appreciable  as  compared 
with  that  effected  by  ice-action. 

Traces  of  the  vanished  glaciers  made  during  1 1  l « * 
period  of  greater  extension  abound  on  the  Sierra 
as  far  south  as  latitude  36°.  Even  the  polished 
rock  surfaces,  the  most  evanescent  of  glacial  rec- 
ords, are  still  found  in  a  wonderfully  perfect  state 
of  preservation  on  the  upper  half  of  the  middle 
portion  of  the  range,  and  form  the  most  striking 
of  all  the  glacial  phenomena.  They  occur  in  large 
irregular  patches  in  the  summit  and  middle  regions, 
and  though  they  have  been  subjected  to  the  action 
of  the  weather  with  its  corroding  storms  for  thou- 
sands of  years,  their  mechanical  excellence  is  such 
that  they  still  reflect  the  sunbeams  like  glass,  and 


THE    GLACIERS  27 

attract  the  attention  of  every  observer.  The  at- 
tention of  the  mountaineer  is  seldom  arrested  by 
moraines,  however  regular  and  high  they  may  be, 
or  by  canons,  however  deep,  or  by  rocks,  however 
noble  in  form  and  sculpture;  but  he  stoops  and  rubs 
his  hands  admiringly  on  the  shining  surfaces  and 
tries  hard  to  account  for  their  mysterious  smooth- 
ness. He  has  seen  the  snow  descending  in  ava- 
lanches, but  concludes  this  cannot  be  the  work  of 
snow,  for  he  finds  it  where  no  avalanches  occur. 
jSTor  can  water  have  done  it,  for  he  sees  this  smooth- 
ness glowing  on  the  sides  and  tops  of  the  highest 
domes.  Only  the  winds  of  all  the  agents  he  knows 
seem  capable  of  flowing  in  the  directions  indicated 
by  the  scoring.  Indians,  usually  so  little  curious 
about  geological  phenomena,  have  come  to  me  oc- 
casionally and  asked  me,  "What  makeum  the 
ground  so  smooth  at  Lake  Tenaya  ?"  Even  horses 
and  dogs  gaze  wonderingiy  at  the  strange  brightness 
of  the  ground,  and  smell  the  polished  spaces  and 
place  their  feet  cautiously  on  them  when  they  come 
to  them  for  the  first  time,  as  if  afraid  of  sinking. 
The  most  perfect  of  the  polished  pavements  ami 
walls  lie  at  an  elevation  of  from  7000  to  9000  feet 
above  the  sea,  where  the  rock  is  compact  silicious 
granite.  Small  dim  patches  may  be  found  as  low 
as  3000  feet  on  the  driest  and  most  enduring  por- 
tions of  sheer  walls  with  a  southern  exposure,  and 
on  compact  swelling  bosses  partially  protected  from 
rain  by  a  covering  of  large  boulders.  On  the  north 
half  of  the  range  the  striated  and  polished  surfaces 
are  less  common,  not  only  because  this  part  of  the 
chain  is  lower,  but  because  the  surface  rocks  are 


28  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF   CALIFORNIA 

chiefly  porous  lavas  subject  to  comparatively  rapid 
waste.  The  ancient  moraines  also,  though  well 
preserved  on  most  of  the  south  half  of  the  range, 
are  nearly  obliterated  to  the  northward,  but  their 
material  is  found  scattered  and  disintegrated. 

A  similar  blurred  condition  of  the  superficial  rec- 
ords of  glacial  action  obtains  throughout  most  of 
Oregon,  Washington,  British  Columbia,  and  Alaska, 
due  in  great  part  to  the  action  of  excessive  mois- 
ture. Even  in  southeastern  Alaska,  where  the  most 
extensive  glaciers  on  the  continent  are,  the  more 
evanescent  of  the  traces  of  their  former  greater  ex- 
tension, though  comparatively  recent,  are  more  ob- 
scure than  those  of  the  ancient  California  glaciers 
where  the  climate  is  drier  and  the  rocks  more  re- 
sisting. 

These  general  views  of  the  glaciers  of  the  Pacific 
Coast  will  enable  my  readers  to  see  something  of 
the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  California,  and 
will  throw  light  on  the  residual  glaciers  of  the 
High  Sierra. 

Prior  to  the  autumn  of  1871  the  glaciers  of  the 
Sierra  were  unknown.  In  October  of  that  year  I 
discovered  the  Black  Mountain  Glacier  in  a 
shadowy  amphitheater  between  Black  and  Red 
Mountains,  two  of  the  peaks  of  the  Merced  group. 
This  group  is  the  highest  portion  of  a  spur  that 
straggles  out  from  the  main  axis  of  the  range  in  the 
direction  of  Yosemite  Valley.  At  the  time  of  this 
interesting  discovery  I  was  exploring  the  neve  am- 
phitheaters of  the  group,  and  tracing  the  courses  of 
the  ancient  glaciers  that  once  poured  from  its  ample 
fountains   through  the  Illilouette   Basin   and  the 


THE   GLACIERS  29 

Yosemite  Valley,  not  expecting  to  find  any  active 
glaciers  so  far  south  in  the  land  of  sunshine. 

Beginning  on  the  northwestern  extremity  of  the 
group,  I  explored  the  chief  tributary  basins  in  suc- 
cession, their  moraines,  roches  moutonnees,  and 
splendid  glacier  pavements,  taking  them  in  regular 
succession  without  any  reference  to  the  time  con- 
sumed in  their  study.  The  monuments  of  the  tril  >- 
utary  that  poured  its  ice  from  between  Red  and 
Black  Mountains  I  found  to  be  the  most  interest- 
ing of  them  all ;  and  when  I  saw  its  magnificent  mo- 
raines extending  in  majestic  curves  from  the  spa- 
cious amphitheater  between  the  mountains,  I  was 
exhilarated  with  the  work  that  lay  before  me.  It 
was  one  of  the  golden  days  of  the  Sierra  Indian 
summer,  when  the  rich  sunshine  glorifies  every 
landscape  however  rocky  and  cold,  and  suggests 
anything  rather  than  glaciers.  The  path  of  the 
vanished  glacier  was  warm  now,  and  shone  in  many 
places  as  if  washed  with  silver.  The  tall  pines 
growing  on  the  moraines  stood  transfigured  in  the 
glowing  light,  the  poplar  groves  on  the  levels  of  the 
basin  were  masses  of  orange-yellow,  and  the  late- 
blooming  goldenrods  added  gold  to  gold.  Pushing 
on  over  my  rosy  glacial  highway,  I  passed  lake 
after  lake  set  in  solid  basins  of  granite,  and  many 
a  thicket  and  meadow  watered  by  a  stream  that  is- 
sues from  the  amphitheater  and  links  the  lakes  to- 
gether; now  wading  through  plushy  bogs  knee-dccp 
in  yellow  and  purple  sphagnum  ;  now  passing  over 
bare  rock.  The  main  lateral  moraines  that  bounded 
the  view  on  either  hand  are  from  100  to  nearly  200 
feet  high,  and  about  as  regular  as  artificial  em- 


30  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

bankments,  and  covered  with  a  superb  growth  of 
Silver  Fir  and  Pine.  But  this  garden  and  forest 
luxuriance  was  speedily  left  behind.  The  trees  were 
dwarfed  as  I  ascended;  patches  of  the  alpine 
bryanthus  and  cassiope  began  to  appear,  and  arctic 
willows  pressed  into  flat  carpets  by  the  winter  snow. 
The  lakelets,  which  a  few  miles  down  the  valley 
were  so  richly  embroidered  with  flowery  meadows, 
had  here,  at  an  elevation  of  10,000  feet,  only  small 
brown  mats  of  carex,  leaving  bare  rocks  around 
more  than  half  their  shores.  Yet  amid  this  alpine 
suppression  the  Mountain  Pine  bravely  tossed  his 
storm-beaten  branches  on  the  ledges  and  buttresses 
of  Red  Mountain,  some  specimens  being  over  100 
feet  high,  and  24  feet  in  circumference,  seemingly  as 
fresh  and  vigorous  as  the  giants  of  the  lower  zones. 

Evening  came  on  just  as  I  got  fairly  within  the 
portal  of  the  main  amphitheater.  It  is  about  a 
mile  wide,  and  a  little  less  than  two  miles  long.  The 
crumbling  spurs  and  battlements  of  Red  Mountain 
bound  it  on  the  north,  the  somber,  rudely  sculptured 
precipices  of  Black  Mountain  on  the  south,  and  a 
hacked,  splintery  col,  curving  around  from  moun- 
tain to  mountain,  shuts  it  in  on  the  east. 

I  chose  a  camping-ground  on  the  brink  of  one  of 
the  lakes  where  a  thicket  of  Hemlock  Spruce 
sheltered  me  from  the  night  wind.  Then,  after  mak- 
ing a  tin-cupful  of  tea,  I  sat  by  my  camp-fire  reflect- 
ing on  the  grandeur  and  significance  of  the  glacial 
records  I  had  seen.  As  the  night  advanced  the 
mighty  rock  walls  of  my  mountain  mansion  seemed 
to  come  nearer,  while  the  starry  sky  in  glorious 
brightness  stretched  across  like  a  ceiling  from  wall 


THE   GLACIERS  ',)] 

to  wall,  and  fitted  closely  down  into  all  the  spiky  ir- 
regularities of  the  summits.  Then,  after  a  long  fire- 
side rest  and  a  glance  at  my  note-book,  I  cut  a  few 
leafy  branches  for  a  bed,  and  fell  into  the  clear, 
death-like  sleep  of  the  tired  mountaineer. 

Early  next  morning  I  set  out  to  trace  the  grand 
old  glacier  that  had  done  so  much  for  the  beauty 
of  the  Yosemite  region  back  to  its  farthest  foun- 
tains, enjoying  the  charm  that  every  explorer  feels 
in  Nature's  untrodden  wildernesses.  The  voices  of 
the  mountains  were  still  asleep.  The  wind  scarce 
stirred  the  pine-needles.  The  sun  was  up,  but  it 
was  yet  too  cold  for  the  birds  and  the  few  burrow- 
ing animals  that  dwell  here.  Only  the  stream,  cas- 
cading from  pool  to  pool,  seemed  to  be  wholly  awake. 
Yet  the  spirit  of  the  opening  day  called  to  action. 
The  sunbeams  came  streaming  gloriously  through 
the  jagged  openings  of  the  col,  glancing  on  the 
burnished  pavements  and  lighting  the  silvery  lakes, 
while  every  sun-touched  rock  burned  white  on  its 
edges  like  melting  iron  in  a  furnace.  Passing  round 
the  north  shore  of  my  camp  lake  I  followed  the  cen- 
tral stream  past  many  cascades  from  lakelet  to 
lakelet.  The  scenery  became  more  rigidly  arctic, 
the  Dwarf  Pines  and  Hemlocks  disappeared,  and  the 
stream  was  bordered  with  icicles.  As  the  sun  rose 
higher  rocks  were  loosened  on  shattered  portions  of 
the  cliffs,  and  came  down  in  rattling  avalanches, 
echoing  wildly  from  crag  to  crag. 

The  main  lateral  moraines  that  extend  from  the 
jaws  of  the  amphitheater  into  the  Illilouette  Basin 
are  continued  in  straggling  masses  along  the  walls 
of  the  amphitheater,  while  separate  boulders,  hun- 


32  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

dreds  of  tons  in  weight,  are  left  stranded  here  and 
there  out  in  the  middle  of  the  channel.  Here,  also, 
I  observed  a  series  of  small  terminal  moraines 
ranged  along  the  south  wall  of  the  amphitheater, 
corresponding  in  size  and  form  with  the  shadows 
cast  by  the  highest  portions.  The  meaning  of  this 
correspondence  between  moraines  and  shadows  was 
afterward  made  plain.  Tracing  the  stream  back  to 
the  last  of  its  chain  of  lakelets,  I  noticed  a  deposit 
of  fine  gray  mud  on  the  bottom  except  where  the 
force  of  the  entering  current  had  prevented  its  set- 
tling. It  looked  like  the  mud  worn  from  a  grind- 
stone, and  I  at  once  suspected  its  glacial  origin,  for 
the  stream  that  was  carrying  it  came  gurgling  out 
of  the  base  of  a  raw  moraine  that  seemed  in  process 
of  formation.  Not  a  plant  or  weather-stain  was 
visible  on  its  rough,  unsettled  surface.  It  is  from 
(!()  to  over  100  feet  high,  and  plunges  forward  at 
an  angle  of  38°.  Cautiously  picking  my  way,  I 
gained  the  top  of  the  moraine  and  was  delighted  to 
see  a  small  but  well  characterized  glacier  swooping 
down  from  the  gloomy  precipices  of  Black  Moun- 
tain in  a  finely  graduated  curve  to  the  moraine  on 
which  I  stood.  The  compact  ice  appeared  on  all 
the  lower  portions  of  the  glacier,  though  gray  with 
dirt  and  stones  embedded  in  it.  Farther  up  the  ice 
disappeared  beneath  coarse  granulated  snow.  The 
surface  of  the  glacier  was  further  characterized  by 
dirt  bands  and  the  outcropping  edges  of  the  blue 
veins,  showing  the  laminated  structure  of  the  ice. 
The  uppermost  crevasse,  or  "  bergschrund,"  where 
the  neve  was  attached  to  the  mountain,  was  from 
12  to  14  feet  wide,  and  was  bridged  in  a  few  places 


THE  GLACIERS  33 

by  the  remains  of  snow  avalanches.  Creeping  along 
the  edge  of  the  schrmid,  holding  on  with  benumbed 
fingers,  I  discovered  clear  sections  where  the  bedded 
structure  was  beautifully  revealed.  The  surface 
snow,  though  sprinkled  with  stones  shot  down  from 
the  cliffs,  was  in  some  places  almost  pure,  grad- 
ually becoming  crystalline  and  changing  to  whitish 
porous  ice  of  different  shades  of  color,  and  this 
again  changing  at  a  depth  of  20  or  30  feet  to  blue 
ice,  some  of  the  ribbon-like  bands  of  which  were 
nearly  pure,  and  blended  with  the  paler  bands  in  the 
most  gradual  and  delicate  manner  imaginable.  A 
series  of  rugged  zigzags  enabled  me  to  make  my  way 
down  into  the  weird  under-world  of  the  crevasse. 
Its  chambered  hollows  were  hung  with  a  multitude 
of  clustered  icicles,  amid  which  pale,  subdued  light 
pulsed  and  shimmered  with  indescribable  loveliness. 
Water  dripped  and  tinkled  overhead,  and  from  far 
below  came  strange,  solemn  murmurings  from  cur- 
rents that  were  feeling  their  way  through  veins  and 
fissures  in  the  dark.  The  chambers  of  a  glacier  are 
perfectly  enchanting,  notwithstanding  one  feels  out 
of  place  in  their  frosty  beauty.  I  was  soon  cold 
in  my  shirt-sleeves,  and  the  leaning  wall  threatened 
to  engulf  me ;  yet  it  was  hard  to  leave  the  delicious 
music  of  the  water  and  the  lovely  light.  Coining 
again  to  the  surface,  I  noticed  boulders  of  every 
size  on  their  journeys  to  the  terminal  moraine  — 
journeys  of  more  than  a  hundred  years,  without  a 
single  stop,  night  or  day,  winter  or  summer. 

The  sun  gave  birth  to  a  network  of  sweet-voiced 
rills  that  ran  gracefully  down  the  glacier,  curling . 
and  swirling  in  their  shining  channels,  and  cut- 


34  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ting  clear  sections  through  the  porous  surface-ice 
into  the  solid  blue,  where  the  structure  of  the  glacier 
was  beautifully  illustrated. 

The  series  of  small  terminal  moraines  which  I  had 
observed  in  the  morning,  along  the  south  wall  of  the 
amphitheater,  correspond  in  every  way  with  the 
moraine  of  this  glacier,  and  their  distribution  with 
reference  to  shadows  was  now  understood.  When 
the  climatic  changes  came  on  that  caused  the  melt- 
ing and  retreat  of  the  main  glacier  that  filled  the 
amphitheater,  a  series  of  residual  glaciers  were  left 
in  the  cliff  shadows,  under  the  protection  of  which 
they  lingered,  until  they  formed  the  moraines  we 
are  studying.  Then,  as  the  snow  became  still  less 
abundant,  all  of  them  vanished  in  succession,  except 
the  one  just  described ;  and  the  cause  of  its  longer 
life  is  sufficiently  apparent  in  the  greater  area  of 
snow-basin  it  drains,  and  its  more  perfect  protection 
from  wasting  sunshine.  How  much  longer  this  little 
glacier  will  last  depends,  of  course,  on  the  amount 
of  snow  it  receives  from  year  to  year,  as  compared 
with  melting  waste. 

After  this  discovery,  I  made  excursions  over  all 
the  High  Sierra,  pushing  my  explorations  summer 
after  summer,  and  discovered  that  what  at  first 
sight  in  the  distance  looked  like  extensive  snow- 
fields,  were  in  great  part  glaciers,  busily  at  work 
completing  the  sculpture  of  the  summit-peaks  so 
grandly  blocked  out  by  their  giant  predecessors. 

On  August  21,  I  set  a  series  of  stakes  in  the 
Maclure  Grlacier,  near  Mount  Lyell,  and  found  its 
rate  of  motion  to  be  little  more  than  an  inch  a  day 
in  the  middle,  showing  a  great  contrast  to  the  Muir 


THE   GLACIERS  35 

Glacier  in  Alaska,  which,  near  the  front,  flows  at  a 
rate  of  from  five  to  ten  feet  in  twenty-four  hours. 
Mount  Shasta  has  three  glaciers,  but  Mount 
Whitney,  although  it  is  the  highest  mountain  in  the 
range,  does  not  now  cherish  a  single  glacier.  Small 
patches  of  lasting  snow  and  ice  occur  on  its  northern 
slopes,  but  they  are  shallow,  and  present  no  well 
marked  evidence  of  glacial  motion.  Its  sides,  how- 
ever, are  scored  and  polished  in  many  places  by 
the  action  of  its  ancient  glaciers  that  flowed  east 
and  west  as  tributaries  of  the  great  glaciers  that 
once  filled  the  valleys  of  the  Kern  and  Owen's 
rivers. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE    SNOW 


THE  first  snow  that  whitens  the  Sierra,  usually 
falls  about  the  end  of  October  or  early  in  No- 
vember, to  a  depth  of  a  few  inches,  after  months 
of  the  most  charming  Indian  summer  weather  im- 
aginable. But  in  a  few  days,  this  light  covering 
mostly  melts  from  the  slopes  exposed  to  the  sun 
and  causes  but  little  apprehension  on  the  part  of 
mountaineers  who  may  be  lingering  among  the 
high  peaks  at  this  time.  The  first  general  winter 
storm  that  yields  snow  that  is  to  form  a  lasting 
portion  of  the  season's  supply,  seldom  breaks  on 
the  mountains  before  the  end  of  November.  Then, 
warned  by  the  sky,  cautious  mountaineers,  together 
with  the  wild  sheep,  deer,  and  most  of  the  birds 
and  bears,  make  haste  to  the  lowlands  or  foot-hills  ; 
and  burrowing  marmots,  mountain  beavers,  wood- 
rats,  and  such  people  go  into  winter  quarters,  some 
of  them  not  again  to  see  the  light  of  day  until  the 
general  awakening  and  resurrection  of  the  spring  in 
June  or  July.  The  first  heavy  fall  is  usually  from 
about  two  to  four  feet  in  depth.  Then,  with  inter- 
vals of  splendid  sunshine,  storm  succeeds  storm, 
heaping  snow  on  snow,  until  thirty  to  fifty  feet  has 
fallen.    But  on  account  of  its  settling  and  compact- 

36 


THE   SNOW  37 

ing,  and  the  almost  constant  waste  from  melting 
and  evaporation,  the  average  depth  actually  found 
at  any  time  seldom  exceeds  ten  feet  in  the  forest 
region,  or  fifteen  feet  along  the  slopes  of  the  sum- 
mit peaks. 

Even  during  the  coldest  weather  evaporation 
never  wholly  ceases,  and  the  sunshine  that  abounds 
between  the  storms  is  sufficiently  powerful  to  melt 
the  surface  more  or  less  through  all  the  winter 
months.  Waste  from  melting  also  goes  on  to  some 
extent  on  the  bottom  from  heat  stored  up  in  the 
rocks,  and  given  off  slowly  to  the  snow  in  contact 
with  them,  as  is  shown  by  the  rising  of  the  streams 
on  all  the  higher  regions  after  the  first  snowfall,  and 
their  steady  sustained  flow  all  winter. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  snow  deposited  around 
the  lofty  summits  of  the  range  falls  in  small  crisp 
flakes  and  broken  crystals,  or,  when  accompanied 
by  strong  winds  and  low  temperature,  the  crystals, 
instead  of  being  locked  together  in  their  fall  to 
form  tufted  flakes,  are  beaten  and  broken  into  meal 
and  fine  dust.  But  down  in  the  forest  region  the 
greater  portion  comes  gently  to  the  ground,  light 
and  feathery,  some  of  the  flakes  in  mild  weather 
being  nearly  an  inch  in  diameter,  and  it  is  evenly 
distributed  and  kept  from  drifting  to  any  great  ex- 
tent by  the  shelter  afforded  by  the  large  trees. 
Every  tree  during  the  progress  of  gentle  storms  is 
loaded  with  fairy  bloom  at  the  coldest  and  darkest 
time  of  year,  bending  the  branches,  and  hushing 
every  singing  needle.  But  as  soon  as  the  storm  is 
over,  and  the  sun  shines,  the  snow  at  once  begins 
to  shift  and  settle  and  fall  from  the  branches  in 


38  THE  MOUNTAINS   OP  CALIFORNIA 

miniature  avalanches,  and  the  white  forest  soon  be- 
comes green  again.  The  snow  on  the  ground  also 
settles  and  thaws  every  bright  day,  and  freezes  at 
night,  until  it  becomes  coarsely  granulated,  and  loses 
every  trace  of  its  rayed  crystalline  structure,  and 
then  a  man  may  walk  firmly  over  its  frozen  surface 
as  if  on  ice.  The  forest  region  up  to  an  elevation  of 
7000  feet  is  usually  in  great  part  free  from  snow  in 
June,  but  at  this  time  the  higher  regions  are  still 
heavy-laden,  and  are  not  touched  by  spring  weather 
to  any  considerable  extent  before  the  middle  or  end 
of  July. 

One  of  the  most  striking  effects  of  the  snow  on 
the  mountains  is  the  burial  of  the  rivers  and  small 
lakes. 

As  the  snaw  fa's  in  the  river 

A  moment  white,  then  lost  forever, 

sang  Burns,  in  illustrating  the  fleeting  character 
of  human  pleasure.  The  first  snowflakes  that  fall 
into  the  Sierra  rivers  vanish  thus  suddenly;  but  in 
great  storms,  when  the  temperature  is  low,  the 
abundance  of  the  snow  at  length  chills  the  water 
nearly  to  the  freezing-point,  and  then,  of  course,  it 
ceases  to  melt  and  consume  the  snow  so  suddenly. 
The  falling  flakes  and  crystals  form  cloud-like 
masses  of  blue  sludge,  which  are  swept  forward 
with  the  current  and  carried  down  to  warmer  cli- 
mates many  miles  distant,  while  some  are  lodged 
against  logs  and  rocks  and  projecting  points  of  the 
banks,  and  last  for  days,  piled  high  above  the  level 
of  the  water,  and  show  white  again,  instead  of  being 
at  once  "  lost  forever,"  while  the  rivers  themselves 


THE   SNOW  39 

are  at  length  lost  for  months  during  the  snowy 
period.  The  snow  is  first  built  out  from  the  hanks 
in  bossy,  over-curling  drifts,  compacting  and  ce- 
menting until  the  streams  are  spanned.  They  then 
flow  in  the  dark  beneath  a  continuous  covering 
across  the  snowy  zone,  which  is  about  thirty  miles 
wide.  All  the  Sierra  rivers  and  their  tributaries  in 
these  high  regions  are  thus  lost  every  winter,  as  if 
another  glacial  period  had  come  on.  Not  a  drop 
of  running  water  is  to  be  seen  excepting  at  a  few 
points  where  large  falls  occur,  though  the  rush  and 
rumble  of  the  heavier  currents  may  still  be  heard. 
Toward  spring,  when  the  weather  is  warm  during 
the  day  and  frosty  at  night,  repeated  thawing  and 
freezing  and  new  layers  of  snow  render  the  bridg- 
ing-masses dense  and  firm,  so  that  one  may  safely 
walk  across  the  streams,  or  even  lead  a  horse  across 
them  without  danger  of  falling  through.  In  June 
the  thinnest  parts  of  the  winter  ceiling,  and  those 
most  exposed  to  sunshine,  begin  to  give  way,  form- 
ing dark,  rugged-edged,  pit-like  sinks,  at  the  bottom 
of  which  the  rushing  water  may  be  seen.  At  the 
end  of  June  only  here  and  there  may  the  moun- 
taineer find  a  secure  snow-bridge. .  The  most  last- 
ing of  the  winter  bridges,  thawing  from  below  as 
well  as  from  above,  because  of  warm  currents  of  air 
passing  through  the  tunnels,  are  strikingly  arched 
and  sculptured;  and  by  the  occasional  freezing  of 
the  oozing,  dripping  water  of  the  ceiling  they  be- 
come brightly  and  picturesquely  icy.  In  some  of 
the  reaches,  where  there  is  a  free  margin,  we  may 
walk  through  them.  Small  skylights  appearing  here 
and  there,  these  tunnels  are  not  very  dark.    The 


40  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

roaring  river  fills  all  the  arching  way  with  impress- 
ively loud  reverberating  music,  which  is  sweetened 
at  times  by  the  ouzel,  a  bird  that  is  not  afraid  to  go 
wherever  a  stream  may  go,  and  to  sing  wherever  a 
stream  sings. 

All  the  small  alpine  pools  and  lakelets  are  in  like 
manner  obliterated  from  the  winter  landscapes, 
either  by  being  first  frozen  and  then  covered  by 
snow,  or  by  being  filled  in  by  avalanches.  The  first 
avalanche  of  the  season  shot  into  a  lake  basin  may 
perhaps  find  the  surface  frozen.  Then  there  is  a 
grand  crashing  of  breaking  ice  and  dashing  of  waves 
mingled  with  the  low,  deep  booming  of  the  ava- 
lanche. Detached  masses  of  the  invading  snow, 
mixed  with  fragments  of  ice,  drift  about  in  sludgy, 
island-like  heaps,  while  the  main  body  of  it  forms 
a  talus  with  its  base  wholly  or  in  part  resting  on 
the  bottom  of  the  basin,  as  controlled  by  its  depth 
and  the  size  of  the  avalanche.  The  next  avalanche, 
of  course,  encroaches  still  farther,  and  so  on  with 
each  in  succession  until  the  entire  basin  may  be 
filled  and  its  water  sponged  up  or  displaced.  This 
huge  mass  of  sludge,  more  or  less  mixed  with  sand, 
stones,  and  perhaps  timber,  is  frozen  to  a  consider- 
able depth,  and  much  sun-heat  is  required  to  thaw 
it.  Some  of  these  unfortunate  lakelets  are  not 
clear  of  ice  and  snow  until  near  the  end  of  summer. 
Others  are  never  quite  free,  opening  only  on  the 
side  opposite  the  entrance  of  the  avalanches.  Some 
show  only  a  narrow  crescent  of  water  lying  between 
the  shore  and  sheer  bluffs  of  icy  compacted  snow, 
masses  of  which  breaking  off  float  in  front  like  ice- 
bergs in  a  miniature  Arctic  Ocean,  while  the  ava- 


THE   SNOW  41 

lanche  heaps  leaning  back  against  the  mountains 
look  like  small  glaciers.  The  frontal  cliffs  are  in 
some  instances  quite  picturesque,  and  with  the  berg- 
dotted  waters  in  front  of  them  lighted  with  sun- 
shine are  exceedingly  beautiful.  It  often  happens 
that  while  one  side  of  a  lake  basin  is  hopelessly 
snow-buried  and  frozen,  the  other,  enjoying  sun- 
shine, is  adorned  with  beautiful  flower-gardens. 
Some  of  the  smaller  lakes  are  extinguished  in  an  in- 
stant by  a  heavy  avalanche  either  of  rocks  or  snow. 
The  rolling,  sliding,  ponderous  mass  entering  on 
one  side  sweeps  across  the  bottom  and  up  the  op- 
posite side,  displacing  the  water  and  even  scraping 
the  basin  clean,  and  shoving  the  accumulated  rocks 
and  sediments  up  the  farther  bank  and  taking  full 
possession.  The  dislodged  water  is  in  part  ab- 
sorbed, but  most  of  it  is  sent  around  the  front  of 
the  avalanche  and  down  the  channel  of  the  outlet, 
roaring  and  hurrying  as  if  frightened  and  glad  to 
escape. 

SNOW-BANNEKS 

The  most  magnificent  storm  phenomenon  I  ever 
saw,  surpassing  in  showy  grandeur  the  most  im- 
posing effects  of  clouds,  floods,  or  avalanches,  was 
the  peaks  of  the  High  Sierra,  back  of  Yosemite 
Valley,  decorated  with  snow-banners.  Many  of  the 
starry  snow-flowers,  out  of  which  these  banners  are 
made,  fall  before  they  are  ripe,  while  most  of  those 
that  do  attain  perfect  development  as  six-rayed 
crystals  glint  and  chafe  against  one  another  in  their 
fall  through  the  frosty  air,  and  are  broken  into 


42  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

fragments.  This  dry  fragmentary  snow  is  still 
further  prepared  for  the  formation  of  banners  by 
the  action  of  the  wind.  For,  instead  of  finding  rest 
at  once,  like  the  snow  which  falls  into  the  tranquil 
depths  of  the  forests,  it  is  rolled  over  and  over, 
beaten  against  rock-ridges,  and  swirled  in  pits  and 
hollows,  like  boulders,  pebbles,  and  sand  in  the 
pot-holes  of  a  river,  until  finally  the  delicate  angles 
of  the  crystals  are  worn  off,  and  the  whole  mass  is 
reduced  to  dust.  And  whenever  storm- winds  find 
this  prepared  snow-dust  in  a  loose  condition  on  ex- 
posed slopes,  where  there  is  a  free  upward  sweep  to 
leeward,  it  is  tossed  back  into  the  sky,  and  borne 
onward  from  peak  to  peak  in  the  form  of  banners 
or  cloudy  drifts,  according  to  the  velocity  of  the 
wind  and  the  conformation  of  the  slopes  up  or 
around  which  it  is  driven.  While  thus  flying 
through  the  air,  a  small  portion  makes  good  its  es- 
cape, and  remains  in  the  sky  as  vapor.  But  far 
the  greater  part,  after  being  driven  into  the  sky 
again  and  again,  is  at  length  locked  fast  in  bossy 
drifts,  or  in  the  wombs  of  glaciers,  some  of  it  to 
remain  silent  and  rigid  for  centuries  before  it  is 
finally  melted  and  sent  singing  down  the  mountain- 
sides to  the  sea. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  abundance  of  winter 
snow-dust  in  the  mountains,  and  the  frequency  of 
high  winds,  and  the  length  of  time  the  dust  remains 
loose  and  exposed  to  their  action,  the  occurrence 
of  well-formed  banners  is,  for  causes  we  shall  here- 
after note,  comparatively  rare.  I  have  seen  only 
one  display  of  this  kind  that  seemed  in  every  way 
perfect.     This  was  in  the  winter  of  1873,  when  the 


THE  SNOW  43 

snow-laden  summits  were  swept  by  a  wild  "  norther." 
I  happened  at  the  time  to  be  wintering  in  Yosemite 
Valley,  that  sublime  Sierra  temple  where  every  day 
one  may  see  the  grandest  sights.  Yet  even  here 
the  wild  gala-day  of  the  north  wind  seemed  sur- 
passingly glorious.  I  was  awakened  in  the  morn- 
ing by  the  rocking  of  my  cabin  and  the  beating  of 
pine-burs  on  the  roof.  Detached  torrents  and  ava- 
lanches from  the  main  wind-flood  overhead  were 
rushing  wildly  down  the  narrow  side  canons,  and 
over  the  precipitous  walls,  with  loud  resounding 
roar,  rousing  the  pines  to  enthusiastic  action,  and 
making  the  whole  valley  vibrate  as  though  it  were 
an  instrument  being  played. 

But  afar  on  the  lofty  exposed  peaks  of  the  range 
standing  so  high  in  the  sky,  the  storm  was  express- 
ing itself  in  still  grander  characters,  which  I  was 
soon  to  see  in  all  their  glory.  I  had  long  been 
anxious  to  study  some  points  in  the  structure  of  the 
ice-cone  that  is  formed  every  winter  at  the  foot  of 
the  upper  Yosemite  fall,  but  the  blinding  spray  by 
which  it  is  invested  had  hitherto  prevented  me  from 
making  a  sufficiently  near  approach.  This  morning 
the  entire  body  of  the  fall  was  torn  into  gauzy 
shreds,  and  blown  horizontally  along  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  leaving  the  cone  dry;  and  while  making  my 
way  to  the  top  of  an  overlooking  ledge  to  seize  so 
favorable  an  opportunity  to  examine  the  interior  of 
the  cone,  the  peaks  of  the  Merced  group  came  in 
sight  over  the  shoulder  of  the  South  Dome,  each 
waving  a  resplendent  banner  against  the  blue  sky, 
as  regular  in  form,  and  as  firm  in  texture,  as  if 
woven  of  fine  silk.    So  rare  and  splendid  a  phenom- 


44  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFOKNIA 

enon,  of  course,  overbore  all  other  considerations 
and  I  at  once  let  the  ice-cone  go,  and  began  to  forct 
my  way  out  of  the  valley  to  some  dome  or  ridgt 
sufficiently  lofty  to  command  a  general  view  of  the 
main  summits,  feeling  assured  that  I  should  find 
them  bannered  still  more  gloriously ;  nor  was  I  in 
the  least  disappointed.  Indian  Canon,  through 
which  I  climbed,  was  choked  with  snow  that  had 
been  shot  down  in  avalanches  from  the  high  cliffs 
on  either  side,  rendering  the  ascent  difficult;  but 
inspired  by  the  roaring  storm,  the  tedious  wallow- 
ing brought  no  fatigue,  and  in  four  horns  I  gained 
the  top  of  a  ridge  above  the  valley,  8000  feet  high. 
And  there  in  bold  relief,  like  a  clear  painting,  ap- 
peared a  most  imposing  scene.  Innumerable  peaks, 
black  and  sharp,  rose  grandly  into  the  dark  blue 
sky,  their  bases  set  in  solid  white,  their  sides  streaked 
and  splashed  with  snow,  like  ocean  rocks  with  foam ; 
and  from  every  summit,  all  free  and  unconfused, 
was  streaming  a  beautiful  silky  silvery  banner, 
from  half  a  mile  to  a  mile  in  length,  slender  at  the 
point  of  attachment,  then  widening  gradually  as  it 
extended  from  the  peak  until  it  was  about  1000  or 
1500  feet  in  breadth,  as  near  as  I  could  estimate. 
The  cluster  of  peaks  called  the  "  Crown  of  the 
Sierra,"  at  the  head  of  the  Merced  and  Tuolumne 
rivers, — Mounts  Dana,  Gibbs,  Conness,  Lyell, 
Maclure,  Ritter,  with  their  nameless  compeers, — 
each  had  its  own  refulgent  banner,  waving  with  a 
clearly  visible  motion  in  the  sunglow,  and  there 
was  not  a  single  cloud  in  the  sky  to  mar  their  simple 
grandeur.  Fancy  yourself  standing  on  this  Yosem- 
ite  ridge  looking  eastward.    You  notice  a  strange 


THE  SNOW  45 

garish  glitter  in  the  air.  The  gale  drives  wildly 
overhead  with  a  fierce,  tempestuous  roar,  but  its 
violence  is  not  felt,  for  you  are  looking  through  a 
sheltered  opening  in  the  woods  as  through  a  win- 
dow. There,  in  the  immediate  foreground  of  your 
picture,  rises  a  majestic  forest  of  Silver  Fir  bloom- 
ing in  eternal  freshness,  the  foliage  yellow-green, 
and  the  snow  beneath  the  trees  strewn  with  their 
beautiful  plumes,  plucked  off  by  the  wind.  Beyond, 
and  extending  over  all  the  middle  ground,  are 
somber  swaths  of  pine,  interrupted  by  huge  swell- 
ing ridges  and  domes;  and  just  beyond  the  dark 
forest  you  see  the  monarehs  of  the  High  Sierra 
waving  their  magnificent  banners.  They  are  twenty 
miles  away,  but  you  would  not  wish  them  nearer, 
for  every  feature  is  distinct,  and  the  whole  glorious 
show  is  seen  in  its  right  proportions.  After  this 
general  view,  mark  how  sharply  the  dark  snowless 
ribs  and  buttresses  and  summits  of  the  peaks  are 
defined,  excepting  the  portions  veiled  by  the  ban- 
ners, and  how  delicately  their  sides  are  streaked 
with  snow,  where  it  has  come  to  rest  in  narrow 
flutings  and  gorges.  Mark,  too,  how  grandly  the 
banners  wave  as  the  wind  is  deflected  against  their 
sides,  and  how  trimly  each  is  attached  to  the  very 
summit  of  its  peak,  like  a  streamer  at  a  masthead ; 
how  smooth  and  silky  they  are  in  texture,  and  how 
finely  their  fading  fringes  are  penciled  on  the  azure 
sky.  See  how  dense  and  opaque  they  are  at  the 
point  of  attachment,  and  how  filmy  and  translucent 
toward  the  end,  so  that  the  peaks  back  of  them  are 
seen  dimly,  as  though  you  were  looking  through 
ground  glass.    Yet  again  observe  how  some  of  the 


46  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

longest,  belonging  to  the  loftiest  summits,  stream 
perfectly  free  all  the  way  across  intervening  notches 
and  passes  from  peak  to  peak,  while  others  overlap 
and  partly  hide  each  other.  And  consider  how 
keenly  every  particle  of  this  wondrous  cloth  of 
snow  is  flashing  out  jets  of  light.  These  are  the 
main  features  of  the  beautiful  and  terrible  picture 
as  seen  from  the  forest  window ;  and  it  would  still 
be  surpassingly  glorious  were  the  fore-  and  middle- 
grounds  obliterated  altogether,  leaving  only  the 
black  peaks,  the  white  banners,  and  the  blue  sky. 
Glancing  now  in  a  general  way  at  the  formation 
of  snow-banners,  we  find  that  the  main  causes  of 
the  wondrous  beauty  and  perfection  of  those  we 
have  been  contemplating  were  the  favorable  direc- 
tion and  great  force  of  the  wind,  the  abundance 
of  snow-dust,  and  the  peculiar  conformation  of  the 
slopes  of  the  peaks.  It  is  essential  not  only  that 
the  wind  should  move  with  great  velocity  and 
steadiness  to  supply  a  sufficiently  copious  and  con- 
tinuous stream  of  snow-dust,  but  that  it  should 
come  from  the  north.  No  perfect  banner  is  ever 
hung  on  the  Sierra  peaks  by  a  south  wind.  Had 
the  gale  that  day  blown  from  the  south,  leaving 
other  conditions  unchanged,  only  a  dull,  confused, 
fog-like  drift  would  have  been  produced;  for  the 
snow,  instead  of  being  spouted  up  over  the  tops 
of  the  peaks  in  concentrated  currents  to  be  drawn 
out  as  streamers,  would  have  been  shed  off  around 
the  sides,  and  piled  down  into  the  glacier  wombs. 
The  cause  of  the  concentrated  action  of  the  north 
wind  is  found  in  the  peculiar  form  of  the  north 
sides  of  the  peaks,  where  the  amphitheaters  of  the 


THE  SNOW  47 

residual  glaciers  are.  In  general  the  south  sides  are 
convex  and  irregular,  while  the  north  sides  are  con- 
cave both  in  their  vertical  and  horizontal  sections; 
the  wind  in  ascending  these  curves  converges  to- 
ward the  summits,  carrying  the  snow  in  concentrat- 
ing currents  with  it,  shooting  it  almost  straight  up 
into  the  air  above  the  peaks,  from  which  it  is  then 
carried  away  in  a  horizontal  direction. 

This  difference  in  form  between  the  north  and 
south  sides  of  the  peaks  was  almost  wholly  pro- 
duced by  the  difference  in  the  kind  and  quantity 
of  the  glaciation  to  which  they  have  been  sub- 
jected, the  north  sides  having  been  hollowed  by 
residual  shadow-glaciers  of  a  form  that  never 
existed  on  the  sun-beaten  sides. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  shadows  in  great  part 
determine  not  only  the  forms  of  lofty  icy  moun- 
tains, but  also  those  of  the  snow-banners  that  the 
wild  winds  hang  on  them. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  NEAR  VIEW  OF  THE   HIGH   SIERRA 

EARLY  one  bright  morning  in  the  middle  of 
Indian  summer,  while  the  glacier  meadows 
were  still  crisp  with  frost  crystals,  I  set  out  from 
the  foot  of  Mount  Lyell,  on  my  way  down  to 
Yosemite  Valley,  to  replenish  my  exhausted  store 
of  bread  and  tea.  I  had  spent  the  past  summer,  as 
many  preceding  ones,  exploring  the  glaciers  that  lie 
on  the  head  waters  of  the  San  Joaquin,  Tuolumne 
Merced,  and  Owen's  rivers;  measuring  and  study 
ing  their  movements,  trends,  crevasses,  moraines, 
etc.,  and  the  part  they  had  jjlayed  during  the  period 
of  their  greater  extension  in  the  creation  and  de 
velopment  of  the  landscapes  of  this  alpine  wonder- 
land. The  time  for  this  kind  of  work  was  nearly 
over  for  the  year,  and  I  began  to  look  forward  with 
delight  to  the  approaching  winter  with  its  wondrour 
storms,  when  I  would  be  warmly  snow-bound  in  rnc 
Yosemite  cabin  with  plenty  of  bread  and  books; 
but  a  tinge  of  regret  came  on  when  I  considered 
that  possibly  I  might  not  see  this  favorite  region 
again  until  the  next  summer,  excepting  distant 
views  from  the  heights  about  the  Yosemite  walls. 
To  artists,  few  portions  of  the  High  Sierra  are, 
strictly  speaking,  picturesque.    The  whole  massive 


A   NEAR  VIEW   OP   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  49 

uplift  of  the  range  is  one  great  picture,  not  clearly 
divisible  into  smaller  ones;  differing  much  in  this 
respect  from  the  older,  and  what  may  be  called,  riper 
mountains  of  the  Coast  Range.  All  the  landscapes 
of  the  Sierra,  as  we  have  seen,  were  born  again,  re- 
modeled from  base  to  summit  by  the  developing  ice- 
floods  of  the  last  glacial  winter.  But  all  these  new 
landscapes  were  not  brought  forth  simultaneously ; 
some  of  the  highest,  where  the  ice  lingered  longest, 
are  tens  of  centuries  younger  than  those  of  the 
warmer  regions  below  them.  In  general,  the 
younger  the  mountain-landscapes, — younger,  I 
mean,  with  reference  to  the  time  of  their  emergence 
from  the  ice  of  the  glacial  period, —  the  less  sepa- 
rable are  they  into  artistic  bits  capable  of  being 
made  into  warm,  sympathetic,  lovable  pictures  with 
appreciable  humanity  in  them. 

Here,  however,  on  the  head  waters  of  the  Tuol- 
umne, is  a  group  of  wild  peaks  on  which  the  geol- 
ogist may  say  that  the  sun  has  but  just  begun  to 
shine,  which  is  yet  in  a  high  degree  picturesque, 
and  in  its  main  features  so  regular  and  evenly 
balanced  as  almost  to  appear  conventional  —  one 
somber  cluster  of  snow-laden  peaks  with  gray  pine- 
fringed  granite  bosses  braided  around  its  base,  the 
whole  surging  free  into  the  sky  from  the  head  of  a 
magnificent  valley,  whose  lofty  walls  are  beveled 
away  on  both  sides  so  as  to  embrace  it  all  without 
admitting  anything  not  strictly  belonging  to  it. 
The  foreground  was  now  aflame  with  autumn  col- 
ors, brown  and  purple  and  gold,  ripe  in  the  mellow 
sunshine ;  contrasting  brightly  with  the  deep,  cobalt 
blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  black  and  gray,  and  pure, 


50  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

spiritual  white  of  the  rocks  and  glaciers.  Down 
through  the  midst,  the  young  Tuolumne  was  seen 
pouring  from  its  crystal  fountains,  now  resting  in 
glassy  pools  as  if  changing  back  again  into  ice,  now 
leaping  in  white  cascades  as  if  turning  to  snow; 
gliding  right  and  left  between  granite  bosses,  then 
sweeping  on  through  the  smooth,  meadowy  levels 
of  the  valley,  swaying  pensively  from  side  to  side 
with  calm,  stately  gestures  past  dipping  willows  and 
sedges,  and  around  groves  of  arrowy  pine;  and 
throughout  its  whole  eventful  course,  whether  flow- 
ing fast  or  slow,  singing  loud  or  low,  ever  filling  the 
landscape  with  spiritual  animation,  and  manifesting 
the  grandeur  of  its  sources  in  every  movement  and 
tone. 

Pursuing  my  lonely  way  down  the  valley,  I  turned 
again  and  again  to  gaze  on  the  glorious  picture, 
throwing  up  my  arms  to  inclose  it  as  in  a  frame. 
After  long  ages  of  growth  in  the  darkness  beneath 
the  glaciers,  through  sunshine  and  storms,  it  seemed 
now  to  be  ready  and  waiting  for  the  elected  artist, 
like  yellow  wheat  for  the  reaper;  and  I  could  not 
help  wishing  that  I  might  carry  colors  and  brushes 
with  me  on  my  travels,  and  learn  to  paint.  In  the 
mean  time  I  had  to  be  content  with  photographs  on 
my  mind  and  sketches  in  my  note-books.  At  length, 
after  I  had  rounded  a  precipitous  headland  that 
puts  out  from  the  west  wall  of  the  valley,  every 
peak  vanished  from  sight,  and  I  pushed  rapidly 
along  the  frozen  meadows,  over  the  divide  between 
the  waters  of  the  Merced  and  Tuolumne,  and  down 
through  the  forests  that  clothe  the  slopes  of  Cloud's 
Rest,  arriving  in  Yosemite  in  due  time — which. 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  51 

with  me,  is  any  time.  And,  strange  to  say,  among 
the  first  people  I  met  here  were  two  artists  who, 
with  letters  of  introduction,  were  awaiting  my  re- 
turn. They  inquired  whether  in  the  course  of  my 
explorations  in  the  adjacent  mountains  I  had  ever 
come  upon  a  landscape  suitable  for  a  large  paint- 
ing; whereupon  I  began  a  description  of  the  one  that 
had  so  lately  excited  my  admiration.  Then,  as  I 
went  on  further  and  further  into  details,  their  faces 
began  to  glow,  and  I  offered  to  guide  them  to  it, 
while  they  declared  that  they  would  gladly  follow, 
far  or  near,  whithersoever  I  could  spare  the  time  to 
lead  them. 

Since  storms  might  come  breaking  down  through 
the  fine  weather  at  any  time,  burying  the  colors  in 
snow,  and  cutting  off  the  artists'  retreat,  I  advised 
getting  ready  at  once. 

I  led  them  out  of  the  valley  by  the  Vernal  and 
Nevada  Falls,  thence  over  the  main  dividing  ridge 
to  the  Big  Tuolumne  Meadows,  by  the  old  Mono 
trail,  and  thence  along  the  upper  Tuolumne  River 
to  its  head.  This  was  my  companions'  first  excur- 
sion into  the  High  Sierra,  and  as  I  was  almost  al- 
ways alone  in  my  mountaineering,  the  way  that  the 
fresh  beauty  was  reflected  in  their  faces  made  for 
me  a  novel  and  interesting  study.  They  naturally 
were  affected  most  of  all  by  the  colors  —  the  in- 
tense azure  of  the  sky,  the  purplish  grays  of  the 
granite,  the  red  and  browns  of  dry  meadows,  and 
the  translucent  purple  and  crimson  of  huckleberry 
bogs;  the  flaming  yellow  of  aspen  groves,  the  silvery 
flashing  of  the  streams,  and  the  bright  green  and 
blue  of  the  glacier  lakes.    But  the  general  expres- 


52  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

sion  of  the  scenery —  rocky  and  savage  —  seemed 
sadly  disappointing ;  and  as  they  threaded  the  for- 
est from  ridge  to  ridge,  eagerly  scanning  the  land- 
scapes as  they  were  unfolded,  they  said:  "All  this 
is  huge  and  sublime,  but  we  see  nothing  as  yet  at 
all  available  for  effective  pictures.  Art  is  long, 
and  art  is  limited,  you  know;  and  here  are  fore- 
grounds, middle-grounds,  backgrounds,  all  alike; 
bare  rock-waves,  woods,  groves,  diminutive  flecks 
of  meadow,  and  strips  of  glittering  water."  "  Never 
mind,"  I  replied,  "  only  bide  a  wee,  and  I  will  show 
you  something  you  will  like." 

At  length,  toward  the  end  of  the  second  day,  the 
Sierra  Crown  began  to  come  into  view,  and  when  we 
had  fairly  rounded  the  projecting  headland  before 
mentioned,  the  whole  picture  stood  revealed  in  the 
flush  of  the  alpenglow.  Their  enthusiasm  was  ex- 
cited beyond  bounds,  and  the  more  impulsive  of 
the  two,  a  young  Scotchman,  dashed  ahead,  shout- 
ing and  gesticulating  and  tossing  his  arms  in  the 
air  like  a  madman.  Here,  at  last,  was  a  typical 
alpine  landscape. 

After  feasting  awhile  on  the  view,  I  proceeded 
to  make  camp  in  a  sheltered  grove  a  little  way  back 
from  the  meadow,  where  pine-boughs  could  be  ob- 
tained for  beds,  and  where  there  was  plenty  of  dry 
wood  for  fires,  while  the  artists  ran  here  and  there, 
along  the  river-bends  and  up  the  sides  of  the  canon, 
choosing  foregrounds  for  sketches.  After  dark, 
when  our  tea  was  made  and  a  rousing  fire  had  been 
built,  we  began  to  make  our  plans.  They  decided 
to  remain  several  days,  at  the  least,  while  I  con- 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  53 

eluded  to  make  an  excursion  in  the  mean  time  to 
the  untouched  summit  of  Ritter. 

It  was  now  about  the  middle  of  October,  the 
springtime  of  snow- flowers.  The  first  winter-clouds 
had  already  bloomed,  and  the  peaks  were  strewn 
with  fresh  crystals,  without,  however,  affecting  the 
climbing  to  any  dangerous  extent.  And  as  the 
weather  was  still  profoundly  calm,  and  the  distance 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  only  a  little  more  than 
a  day,  I  felt  that  I  was  running  no  great  risk  of 
being  storm-bound. 

Mount  Ritter  is  king  of  the  mountains  of  the 
middle  portion  of  the  High  Sierra,  as  Shasta  of  the 
north  and  Whitney  of  the  south  sections.  More- 
over, as  far  as  I  know,  it  had  never  been  climbed. 
I  had  explored  the  adjacent  wilderness  summer  after 
summer,  but  my  studies  thus  far  had  never  drawn 
me  to  the  top  of  it.  Its  height  above  sea-level  is 
about  13,300  feet,  and  it  is  fenced  round  by  steeply 
inclined  glaciers,  and  canons  of  tremendous  depth 
and  ruggedness,  which  render  it  almost  inaccessi- 
ble. But  difficulties  of  this  kind  only  exhilarate  the 
mountaineer. 

Next  morning,  the  artists  went  heartily  to  their 
work  and  I  to  mine.  Former  experiences  had  given 
good  reason  to  know  that  passionate  storms,  invisi- 
ble as  yet,  might  be  brooding  in  the  calm  sun- 
gold  ;  therefore,  before  bidding  farewell,  I  warned 
the  artists  not  to  be  alarmed  should  I  fail  to  appear 
before  a  week  or  ten  days,  and  advised  them,  in 
case  a  snow-storm  should  set  in,  to  keep  up  big 
fires  and  shelter  themselves  as  best  they  could,  and 


54  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

on  no  account  to  become  frightened  and  attempt 
to  seek  their  way  back  to  Yosemite  alone  through 
the  drifts. 

My  general  plan  was  simply  this:  to  scale  the 
canon  wall,  cross  over  to  the  eastern  flank  of  the 
range,  and  then  make  my  way  southward  to  the 
northern  spurs  of  Mount  Bitter  in  compliance  with 
the  intervening  topography ;  for  to  push  on  directly 
southward  from  camp  through  the  innumerable 
peaks  and  pinnacles  that  adorn  this  portion  of  the 
axis  of  the  range,  however  interesting,  would  take 
too  much  time,  besides  being  extremely  difficult  and 
dangerous  at  this  time  of  year. 

All  my  first  day  was  pure  pleasure ;  simply 
mountaineering  indulgence,  crossing  the  dry  path- 
ways of  the  ancient  glaciers,  tracing  happy  streams, 
and  learning  the  habits  of  the  birds  and  marmots 
in  the  groves  and  rocks.  Before  I  had  gone  a  mile 
from  camp,  I  came  to  the  foot  of  a  white  cascade 
that  beats  its  way  down  a  rugged  gorge  in  the 
canon  wall,  from  a  height  of  about  nine  hundred 
feet,  and  pours  its  throbbing  waters  into  the  Tuol- 
umne. I  was  acquainted  with  its  fountains,  which, 
fortunately,  lay  in  my  course.  What  a  fine  travel- 
ing companion  it  proved  to  be,  what  songs  it  sang, 
and  how  passionately  it  told  the  mountain's  own 
joy!  Gladly  I  climbed  along  its  dashing  border, 
absorbing  its  divine  music,  and  bathing  from  time 
to  time  in  waf tings  of  irised  spray.  Climbing 
higher,  higher,  new  beauty  came  streaming  on  the 
sight:  painted  meadows,  late-blooming  gardens, 
peaks  of  rare  architecture,  lakes  here  and  there, 
shining  like  silver,  and  glimpses  of  the  forested 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  55 

middle  region  and  the  yellow  lowlands  far  in  the 
west.  Beyond  the  range  I  saw  the  so-called  Mono 
Desert,  lying  dreamily  silent  in  thick  purple  light 
—  a  desert  of  heavy  sun-glare  beheld  from  a  desert 
of  ice-burnished  granite.  Here  the  waters  divide, 
shouting  in  glorious  enthusiasm,  and  falling  east- 
ward to  vanish  in  the  volcanic  sands  and  dry  sky 
of  the  Great  Basin,  or  westward  to  the  Great  Val- 
ley of  California,  and  thence  through  the  Bay  of 
San  Francisco  and  the  Golden  Gate  to  the  sea. 

Passing  a  little  way  down  over  the  summit  until 
I  had  reached  an  elevation  of  about  10,000  feet,  I 
pushed  on  southward  toward  a  group  of  savage 
peaks  that  stand  guard  about  Bitter  on  the  north 
and  west,  groping  my  way,  and  dealing  instinctively 
with  every  obstacle  as  it  presented  itself.  Here  a 
huge  gorge  would  be  found  cutting  across  my  path, 
along  the  dizzy  edge  of  which  I  scrambled  until 
some  less  precipitous  point  was  discovered  where  I 
might  safely  venture  to  the  bottom  and  then,  se- 
lecting some  feasible  portion  of  the  opj>osite  wall, 
reascend  with  the  same  slow  caution.  Massive, 
flat-topped  spurs  alternate  with  the  gorges,  plunging 
abruptly  from  the  shoulders  of  the  snowy  peaks, 
and  planting  their  feet  in  the  warm  desert.  These 
were  everywhere  marked  and  adorned  with  charac- 
teristic sculptures  of  the  ancient  glaciers  that  swept 
over  this  entire  region  like  one  vast  ice-wind,  and 
the  polished  surfaces  produced  by  the  ponderous 
flood  are  still  so  perfectly  preserved  that  in  many 
places  the  sunlight  reflected  from  them  is  about  as 
trying  to  the  eyes  as  sheets  of  snow. 

God's  glacial-mills  grind  slowly,  but  they  have 


56  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

been  kept  in  motion  long  enough  in  California  to 
grind  sufficient  soil  for  a  glorious  abundance  of  life, 
though  most  of  the  grist  has  been  carried  to  the 
lowlands,  leaving  these  high  regions  comparatively 
lean  and  bare;  while  the  post-glacial  agents  of 
erosion  have  not  yet  furnished  sufficient  available 
food  over  the  general  surface  for  more  than  a  few 
tufts  of  the  hardiest  plants,  chiefly  carices  and  eri- 
ogonse.  And  it  is  interesting  to  learn  in  this  con- 
nection that  the  sparseness  and  repressed  character 
of  the  vegetation  at  this  height  is  caused  more  by 
want  of  soil  than  by  harshness  of  climate ;  for,  here 
and  there,  in  sheltered  hollows  (countersunk  beneath 
the  general  surface)  into  which  a  few  rods  of  well- 
ground  moraine  chips  have  been  dumped,  we  find 
groves  of  spruce  and  pine  thirty  to  forty  feet  high, 
trimmed  around  the  edges  with  willow  and  huckle- 
berry bushes,  and  oftentimes  still  further  by  an 
outer  ring  of  tall  grasses,  bright  with  lupines,  lark- 
spurs, and  showy  columbines,  suggesting  a  climate 
by  no  means  repressingly  severe.  All  the  streams, 
too,  and  the  pools  at  this  elevation  are  furnished 
with  little  gardens  wherever  soil  can  be  made  to  lie, 
which,  though  making  scarce  any  show  at  a  dis- 
tance, constitute  charming  surprises  to  the  appreci- 
ative observer.  In  these  bits  of  leafiness  a  few  birds 
find  grateful  homes.  Having  no  acquaintance  with 
man,  they  fear  no  ill,  and  flock  curiously  about  the 
stranger,  almost  allowing  themselves  to  be  taken  in 
the  hand.  In  so  wild  and  so  beautiful  a  region  was 
spent  my  first  day,  every  sight  and  sound  inspiring, 
leading  one  far  out  of  himself,  yet  feeding  and 
building  up  his  individuality. 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  57 

Now  came  the  solemn,  silent  evening.  Long,  bine, 
spiky  shadows  crept  out  across  the  snow-fields, 
while  a  rosy  glow,  at  first  scarce  discernible,  gradu- 
ally deepened  and  suffused  every  mountain-top, 
flushing  the  glaciers  and  the  harsh  crags  above  them. 
This  was  the  alpenglow,  to  me  one  of  the  most  im- 
pressive of  all  the  terrestrial  manifestations  of  God. 
At  the  touch  of  this  divine  light,  the  mountains 
seemed  to  kindle  to  a  rapt,  religious  consciousness, 
and  stood  hushed  and  waiting  like  devout  wor- 
shipers. Just  before  the  alpenglow  began  to  fade, 
two  crimson  clouds  came  streaming  across  the  sum- 
mit like  wings  of  flame,  rendering  the  sublime  scene 
yet  more  impressive;  then  came  darkness  and  the 
stars. 

Icy  Ritter  was  still  miles  away,  but  I  could  pro- 
ceed no  farther  that  night.  I  found  a  good  camp- 
ground on  the  rim  of  a  glacier  basin  about  11,000 
feet  above  the  sea.  A  small  lake  nestles  in  the 
bottom  of  it,  from  which  I  got  water  for  my  tea, 
and  a  stormbeaten  thicket  near  by  furnished 
abundance  of  resiny  fire-wood.  Somber  peaks, 
hacked  and  shattered,  circled  half-way  around  the 
horizon,  wearing  a  savage  aspect  in  the  gloaming, 
and  a  waterfall  chanted  solemnly  across  the  lake  on 
its  way  down  from  the  foot  of  a  glacier.  The  fall 
and  the  lake  and  the  glacier  were  almost  equally 
bare;  while  the  scraggy  pines  anchored  in  the  rock- 
fissures  were  so  dwarfed  and  shorn  by  storm-winds 
that  you  might  walk  over  their  tops.  In  tone  and 
aspect  the  scene  was  one  of  the  most  desolate  I  ever 
beheld.  But  the  darkest  scriptures  of  the  moun- 
tains are  illumined  with  bright  passages  of  love 


58  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

that  never  fail  to  make  themselves  felt  when  one 
is  alone. 

I  made  my  bed  in  a  nook  of  the  pine-thicket, 
where  the  branches  were  pressed  and  crinkled  over- 
head like  a  roof,  and  bent  down  around  the  sides. 
These  are  the  best  bedchambers  the  high  moun- 
tains afford — snug  as  squirrel-nests,  well  ventilated, 
full  of  spicy  odors,  and  with  plenty  of  wind-played 
needles  to  sing  one  asleep.  I  little  expected  com- 
pany, but,  creeping  in  through  a  low  side-door,  I 
found  five  or  six  birds  nestling  among  the  tassels. 
The  night-wind  began  to"  blow  soon  after  dark ;  at 
first  only  a  gentle  breathing,  but  increasing  toward 
midnight  to  a  rough  gale  that  fell  upon  my  leafy 
roof  in  ragged  surges  like  a  cascade,  bearing  wild 
sounds  from  the  crags  overhead.  The  waterfall 
sang  in  chorus,  filling  the  old  ice-fountain  with  its 
solemn  roar,  and  seeming  to  increase  in  power  as 
the  night  advanced  —  fit  voice  for  such  a  landscape. 
I  had  to  creep  out  many  times  to  the  fire  during 
the  night,  for  it  was  biting  cold  and  I  had  no 
blankets.      Gladly  I  welcomed  the  morning  star. 

The  dawn  in  the  dry,  wavering  air  of  the  desert 
was  glorious.  Everything  encouraged  my  under- 
taking and  betokened  success.  There  was  no  cloud 
in  the  sky,  no  storm-tone  in  the  wind.  Breakfast 
of  bread  and  tea  was  soon  made.  I  fastened  a  hard, 
durable  crust  to  my  belt  by  way  of  provision,  in  case 
I  should  be  compelled  to  pass  a  night  on  the  moun- 
tain-top ;  then,  securing  the  remainder  of  my  little 
stock  against  wolves  and  wood-rats,  I  set  forth  free 
and  hopeful. 

How  glorious  a  greeting  the  sun  gives  the  moun- 


A  NEAR  VIEW  OF  THE  HIGH   SIERRA  59 

tains!  To  behold  this  alone  is  worth  the  pains  of 
any  excursion  a  thousand  times  over.  The  highesl 
peaks  burned  like  islands  in  a  sea  of  liquid  shade 
Then  the  lower  peaks  and  spires  caught  the  glow, 
and  long  lances  of  light,  streaming  through  many 
a  notch  and  pass,  fell  thick  on  the  frozen  meadows. 
The  majestic  form  of  Ritter  was  full  in  sight,  and 
I  pushed  rapidly  on  over  rounded  rock-bosses  and 
pavements,  my  iron-shod  shoes  making  a  clanking 
sound,  suddenly  hushed  now  and  then  in  rugs  of 
bryantlms,  and  sedgy  lake-margins  soft  as  moss. 
Here,  too,  in  this  so-called  "  land  of  desolation,"  I 
met  cassiope,  growing  in  fringes  among  the  bat- 
tered rocks.  Her  blossoms  had  faded  long  ago,  1  mt 
they  were  still  clinging  with  happy  memories  to  the 
evergreen  sprays,  and  still  so  beautiful  as  to  thrill 
every  fiber  of  one's  being.  Winter  and  summer,  you 
may  hear  her  voice,  the  low,  sweet  melody  of  her 
purple  bells.  No  evangel  among  all  the  mountain 
plants  speaks  Nature's  love  more  plainly  than 
cassiope.  Where  she  dwells,  the  redemption  of  the 
coldest  solitude  is  complete.  The  very  rocks  and 
glaciers  seem  to  feel  her  presence,  and  become  im- 
bued with  her  own  fountain  sweetness.  All  things 
were  warming  and  awakening.  Frozen  rills  began 
to  flow,  the  marmots  came  out  of  their  nests  in 
boulder-piles  and  climbed  sunny  rocks  to  bask,  and 
the  dun-headed  sparrows  were  flitting  about  seek- 
ing their  breakfasts.  The  lakes  seen  from  every 
ridge-top  were  brilliantly  rippled  and  spangled, 
shimmering  like  the  thickets  of  the  low  Dwarf 
Pines.  The  rocks,  too,  seemed  responsive  to  the 
vital  heat — rock-crystals  and  snow-crystals  thrill- 


60  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ing  alike.  I  strode  on  exhilarated,  as  if  never  more 
to  feel  fatigue,  limbs  moving  of  themselves,  every 
sense  unfolding  like  the  thawing  flowers,  to  take 
part  in  the  new  day  harmony. 

All  along  my  course  thus  far,  excepting  when 
down  in  the  canons,  the  landscapes  were  mostly 
open  to  me,  and  expansive,  at  least  on  one  side. 
On  the  left  were  the  purple  plains  of  Mono,  repos- 
ing dreamily  and  warm;  on  the  right,  the  near 
peaks  springing  keenly  into  the  thin  sky  with 
more  and  more  impressive  sublimity.  But  these 
larger  views  were  at  length  lost.  Rugged  spurs, 
and  moraines,  and  huge,  projecting  buttresses 
began  to  shut  me  in.  Every  feature  became  more 
rigidly  alpine,  without,  however,  producing  any 
chilling  effect ;  for  going  to  the  mountains  is  like 
going  home.  We  always  find  that  the  strangest 
objects  in  these  fountain  wilds  are  in  some  degree 
familiar,  and  Ave  look  upon  them  with  a  vague 
sense  of  having  seen  them  before. 

On  the  southern  shore  of  a  frozen  lake,  I  en- 
countered an  extensive  field  of  hard,  granular 
snow,  up  which  I  scampered  in  fine  tone,  intend- 
ing to  follow  it  to  its  head,  and  cross  the  rocky 
spur  against  which  it  leans,  hoping  thus  to  come 
direct  upon  the  base  of  the  main  Ritter  peak.  The 
surface  was  pitted  with  oval  hollows,  made  by 
stones  and  drifted  pine-needles  that  had  melted 
themselves  into  the  mass  by  the  radiation  of  ab- 
sorbed sun-heat.  These  afforded  good  footholds, 
but  the  surface  curved  more  and  more  steeply  at 
the  head,  and  the  pits  became  shallower  and  less 
abundant,  until  I  found  myself  in  danger  of  being 


GENERAL    GRANT   TREE  — GENERAL    GRANT    NATIONAL    PARK. 


A  NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  01 

shed  off  like  avalanching  snow.  I  persisted,  how- 
ever, creeping  on  all  fours,  and  shuffling  up  the 
smoothest  places  on  my  back,  as  I  had  often  done 
on  burnished  granite,  until,  after  slipping  several 
times,  I  was  compelled  to  retrace  my  course  to 
the  bottom,  and  make  my  way  around  the  west 
end  of  the  lake,  and  thence  up  to  the  summit  of 
the  divide  between  the  head  waters  of  Rush  Creek 
and  the  northernmost  tributaries  of  the  San 
Joaquin. 

Arriving  on  the  summit  of  this  dividing  crest, 
one  of  the  most  exciting  pieces  of  pure  wilderness 
was  disclosed  that  I  ever  discovered  in  all  my 
mountaineering.  There,  immediately  in  front, 
loomed  the  majestic  mass  of  Mount  Ritter,  with  a 
glacier  swooping  down  its  face  nearly  to  my  feet, 
then  curving  westward  and  pouring  its  frozen  flood 
into  a  dark  blue  lake,  whose  shores  were  bound 
with  precipices  of  crystalline  snow;  while  a  deep 
chasm  drawn  between  the  divide  and  the  glacier 
separated  the  massive  picture  from  everything  else. 
I  could  see  only  the  one  sublime  mountain,  the  one 
glacier,  the  one  lake ;  the  whole  veiled  with  one 
blue  shadow — -rock,  ice,  and  water  close  together 
without  a  single  leaf  or  sign  of  life.  After  gazing 
spellbound,  I  began  instinctively  to  scrutinize  every 
notch  and  gorge  and  weathered  buttress  of  the 
mountain,  with  reference  to  making  the  ascent. 
The  entire  front  above  the  glacier  appeared  as  one 
tremendous  precipice,  slightly  receding  at  the  top, 
and  bristling  with  spires  and  pinnacles  set  above 
one  another  in  formidable  array.  Massive  lichen 
stained  battlements  stood  forward  here  and  there, 


62  THE  MOUNTAINS  OP  CALIFORNIA 

hacked  at  the  top  with  angular  notches,  and  sepa- 
rated by  frosty  gullies  and  recesses  that  have  been 
veiled  in  shadow  ever  since  their  creation;  while 
to  right  and  left,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  were  huge, 
crumbling  buttresses,  offering  no  hope  to  the 
climber.  The  head  of  the  glacier  sends  up  a  few 
finger-like  branches  through  narrow  couloirs;  but 
these  seemed  too  steep  and  short  to  be  available, 
especially  as  I  had  no  ax  with  which  to  cut  steps, 
and  the  numerous  narrow-throated  gullies  down 
which  stones  and  snow  are  avalanched  seemed  hope- 
lessly steep,  besides  being  interrupted  by  vertical 
cliffs ;  while  the  whole  front  was  rendered  still  more 
terribly  forbidding  by  the  chill  shadow  and  the 
gloomy  blackness  of  the  rocks. 

Descending  the  divide  in  a  hesitating  mood,  I 
picked  my  way  across  the  yawning  chasm  at  the 
foot,  and  climbed  out  upon  the  glacier,  There 
were  no  meadows  now  to  cheer  with  their  brave 
colors,  nor  could  I  hear  the  dun-headed  sparrows, 
whose  cheery  notes  so  often  relieve  the  silence  of 
our  highest  mountains.  The  only  sounds  were  the 
gurgling  of  small  rills  down  in  the  veins  and  cre- 
vasses of  the  glacier,  and  now  and  then  the  rattling 
report  of  falling  stones,  with  the  echoes  they  shot  out 
into  the  crisp  air, 

I  could  not  distinctly  hope  to  reach  the  summit 
from  this  side,  yet  I  moved  on  across  the  glacier  as 
if  driven  by  fate.  Contending  with  myself,  the 
season  is  too  far  spent,  I  said,  and  even  should  I  be 
successful,  I  might  be  storm-bound  on  the  moun- 
tain ;  and  in  the  cloud-darkness,  with  the  cliffs  and 
crevasses  covered  with  snow,  how  could  I  escape  I 


A  NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  63 

No;  I  must  wait  till  next  summer.  I  would  only 
approach  the  mountain  now,  and  inspect  it,  creep 
about  its  flanks,  learn  what  I  could  of  its  history, 
holding  myself  ready  to  flee  on  the  approach  of  the 
first  storm-cloud.  But  we  little  know  until  tried 
how  much  of  the  uncontrollable  there  is  in  us,  urg- 
ing across  glaciers  and  torrents,  and  up  dangerous 
heights,  let  the  judgment  forbid  as  it  may. 

I  succeeded  in  gaining  the  foot  of  the  cliff  on  the 
eastern  extremity  of  the  glacier,  and  there  dis- 
covered the  mouth  of  a  narrow  avalanche  gully, 
through  which  I  began  to  climb,  intending  to  follow 
it  as  far  as  possible,  and  at  least  obtain  some  fine 
wild  views  for  my  pains.  Its  general  course  is 
oblique  to  the  plane  of  the  mountain-face,  and  the 
metamorphic  slates  of  which  the  mountain  is  built 
are  cut  by  cleavage  planes  in  such  a  way  that  they 
weather  off  in  angular  blocks,  giving  rise  to  irregu- 
lar steps  that  greatly  facilitate  climbing  on  the 
sheer  places.  I  thus  made  my  way  into  a  wilder- 
ness of  crumbling  spires  and  battlements,  built  to- 
gether in  bewildering  combinations,  and  glazed  in 
many  places  with  a  thin  coating  of  ice,  which  I 
had  to  hammer  off  with  stones.  The  situation  was 
becoming  gradually  more  perilous;  but,  having 
passed  several  dangerous  spots,  I  dared  not  think 
of  descending;  for,  so  steep  was  the  entire  ascent, 
one  would  inevitably  fall  to  the  glacier  in  case  a 
single  misstep  were  made.  Knowing,  therefore,  the 
tried  danger  beneath,  I  became  all  the  more  anxious 
concerning  the  developments  to  be  made  above, 
and  began  to  be  conscious  of  a  vague  foreboding  of 
what  actually  befell:  not  that  I  was  given  to  fear, 


64:  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

but  rather  because  my  instincts,  usually  so  posi- 
tive and  true,  seemed  vitiated  in  some  way,  and 
were  leading  me  astray.  At  length,  after  attaining 
an  elevation  of  about  12,800  feet,  I  found  myself  at 
the  foot  of  a  sheer  drop  in  the  bed  of  the  avalanche 
channel  I  was  tracing,  which  seemed  absolutely  to 
bar  further  progress.  It  was  only  about  forty-five 
or  fifty  feet  high,  and  somewhat  roughened  by 
fissures  and  projections;  but  these  seemed  so  slight 
and  insecure,  as  footholds,  that  I  tried  hard  to  avoid 
the  precipice  altogether,  by  scaling  the  wall  of  the 
channel  on  either  side.  But,  though  less  steep,  the 
walls  were  smoother  than  the  obstructing  rock,  and 
repeated  efforts  only  showed  that  I  must  either  go 
right  ahead  or  turn  back.  The  tried  dangers  be- 
neath seemed  even  greater  than  that  of  the  cliff  in 
front ;  therefore,  after  scanning  its  face  again  and 
again,  I  began  to  scale  it,  picking  my  holds  with 
intense  caution.  After  gaining  a  point  about  half- 
way to  the  top,  I  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  dead 
stop,  with  arms  outspread,  clinging  close  to  the  face 
of  the  rock,  unable  to  move  hand  or  foot  either  up 
or  down.  My  doom  appeared  fixed.  I  must  fall. 
There  would  be  a  moment  of  bewilderment,  and 
then  a  lifeless  rumble  down  the  one  general  pre- 
cipice to  the  glacier  below. 

When  this  final  danger  flashed  upon  me,  I  became 
nerve-shaken  for  the  first  time  since  setting  foot  on 
the  mountains,  and  my  mind  seemed  to  fill  with  a 
stifling  smoke.  But  this  terrible  eclipse  lasted  only 
a  moment,  when  life  blazed  forth  again  with  pre- 
ternatural clearness.  I  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
possessed  of  a  new  sense.     The  other  self,  bygone 


A  NEAR  VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  65 

experiences,  Instinct,  or  Guardian  Angel, —  call  it 
what  you  will, —  came  forward  and  assumed  control. 
Then  my  trembling  muscles  became  firm  again, 
every  rift  and  flaw  in  the  rock  was  seen  as  through 
a  microscope,  and  my  limbs  moved  with  a  posi- 
tiveness  and  precision  with  which  I  seemed  to  have 
nothing  at  all  to  do.  Had  I  been  borne  aloft  upon 
wings,  my  deliverance  could  not  have  been  more 
complete. 

Above  this  memorable  spot,  the  face  of  the 
mountain  is  still  more  savagely  hacked  and  torn. 
It  is  a  maze  of  yawning  chasms  and  gullies,  in 
the  angles  of  which  rise  beetling  crags  and  piles 
of  detached  boulders  that  seem  to  have  been  gotten 
ready  to  be  launched  below.  But  the  strange  in- 
flux of  strength  I  had  received  seemed  inexhaus- 
tible. I  found  a  way  without  effort,  and  soon 
stood  upon  the  topmost  crag  in  the  blessed  light. 

How  truly  glorious  the  landscape  circled  around 
this  noble  summit ! — giant  mountains,  valleys  in- 
numerable, glaciers  and  meadows,  rivers  and  lakes, 
with  the  wide  blue  sky  bent  tenderly  over  them  all. 
But  in  my  first  hour  of  freedom  from  that  terrible 
shadow,  the  sunlight  in  which  I  was  laving  seemed 
all  in  all. 

Looking  southward  along  tlie  axis  of  the  range, 
the  eye  is  first  caught  by  a  row  of  exceedingly 
sharp  and  slender  spires,  which  rise  openly  to  a 
height  of  about  a  thousand  feet,  above  a  series  of 
short,  residual  glaciers  that  lean  back  against  their 
bases ;  their  fantastic  sculpture  and  the  unrelieved 
sharpness  with  which  they  spring  out  of  the  ice 
Tendering  them  peculiarly  wild  and  striking.   These 


66  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

are  "The  Minarets."  Beyond  them  yon  behold  a 
sublime  wilderness  of  mountains,  their  snowy  sum- 
mits towering  together  in  crowded  abundance,  peak 
beyond  peak,  swelling  higher,  higher  as  they  sweep 
on  southward,  until  the  culminating  point  of  the 
range  is  reached  on  Mount  Whitney,  near  the  head 
of  the  Kern  River,  at  an  elevation  of  nearly  14,700 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

Westward,  the  general  flank  of  the  range  is  seen 
flowing  sublimely  away  from  the  sharp  summits, 
in  smooth  undulations;  a  sea  of  huge  gray  granite 
waves  dotted  with  lakes  and  meadows,  and  fluted 
with  stupendous  canons  that  grow  steadily  deeper 
as  they  recede  in  the  distance.  Below  this  gray 
region  lies  the  dark  forest  zone,  broken  here  and 
there  by  upswelling  ridges  and  domes;  and  yet 
beyond  lies  a  yellow,  hazy  belt,  marking  the  broad 
plain  of  the  San  Joaquin,  bounded  on  its  farther 
side  by  the  blue  mountains  of  the  coast. 

Turning  now  to  the  northward,  there  in  the  im- 
mediate foreground  is  the  glorious  Sierra  Crown, 
with  Cathedral  Peak,  a  temple  of  marvelous  archi- 
tecture, a  few  degrees  to  the  left  of  it;  the  gray, 
massive  form  of  Mammoth  Mountain  to  the  right ; 
while  Mounts  Ord,  Gibbs,  Dana,  Conness,  Tower 
Peak,  Castle  Peak,  Silver  Mountain,  and  a  host  of 
noble  companions,  as  yet  nameless,  make  a  sub* 
lime  show  along  the  axis  of  the  range. 

Eastward,  the  whole  region  seems  a  land  of  deso- 
lation covered  with  beautiful  light.  The  torrid 
volcanic  basin  of  Mono,  with  its  one  bare  lake 
fourteen  miles  long ;  Owen's  Valley  and  the  broad 
lava  table-land  at  its  head,  dotted  with  craters,  and 


68  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

the  massive  Inyo  Range,  rivaling  even  the  Sierra 
in  height ;  these  are  spread,  map-like,  beneath  yon, 
with  countless  ranges  beyond,  passing  and  over- 
lapping one  another  and  fading  on  the  glowing 
horizon. 

At  a  distance  of  less  than  3,000  feet  below  the 
summit  of  Mount  Ritter  you  may  find  tributaries 
of  the  San  Joaquin  and  Owen's  rivers,  bursting 
forth  from  the  ice  and  snow  of  the  glaciers  that 
load  its  flanks ;  while  a  little  to  the  north  of  here 
are  found  the  highest  affluents  of  the  Tuolumne 
and  Merced.  Thus,  the  fountains  of  four  of  the 
principal  rivers  of  California  are  within  a  radius 
of  four  or  five  miles. 

Lakes  are  seen  gleaming  in  all  sorts  of  places, — 
round,  or  oval,  or  square,  like  very  mirrors ;  others 
narrow  and  sinuous,  drawn  close  around  the  peaks 
like  silver  zones,  the  highest  reflecting  only  rocks, 
snow,  and  the  sky.  But  neither  these  nor  the  gla- 
ciers, nor  the  bits  of  brown  meadow  and  moorland 
that  occur  here  and  there,  are  large  enough  to 
make  any  marked  impression  upon  the  mighty 
wilderness  of  mountains.  The  eye,  rejoicing  in  its 
freedom,  roves  about  the  vast  expanse,  yet  returns 
again  and  again  to  the  fountain  peaks.  Perhaps 
some  one  of  the  multitude  excites  special  attention, 
some  gigantic  castle  with  turret  and  battlement, 
or  some  Gothic  cathedral  more  abundantly  spired 
than  Milan's.  But,  generally,  when  looking  for  the 
first  time  from  an  all-embracing  standpoint  like 
this,  the  inexperienced  observer  is  opjDressed  by 
the  incomprehensible  grandeur,  variety,  and  abun- 
dance of  the  mountains  rising  shoulder  to  shoulder 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE   HIGH   SIERRA  69 

beyond  the  reach  of  vision ;  and  it  is  only  after 
they  have  been  studied  one  by  one,  long  and  lov- 
ingly, that  their  far-reaching  harmonies  become 
manifest.  Then,  penetrate  the  wilderness  where 
you  may,  the  main  telling  features,  to  which  all 
the  surrounding  topography  is  subordinate,  are 
quickly  perceived,  and  the  most  complicated  clus- 
ters of  peaks  stand  revealed  harmoniously  corre- 
lated and  fashioned  like  works  of  art  —  eloquent 
monuments  of  the  ancient  ice-rivers  that  brought 
them  into  relief  from  the  general  mass  of  the 
range.  The  canons,  too,  some  of  them  a  mile 
deep,  mazing  wildly  through  the  mighty  host  of 
mountains,  however  lawless  and  ungovernable  at 
first  sight  they  appear,  are  at  length  recognized  as 
the  necessary  effects  of  causes  which  followed 
each  other  in  harmonious  sequence  —  Nature's 
poems  carved  on  tables  of  stone  —  the  simplest 
and  most  emphatic  of  her  glacial  compositions. 

Could  we  have  been  here  to  observe  during  the 
glacial  period,  we  should  have  overlooked  a  wrinkled 
ocean  of  ice  as  continuous  as  that  now  covering  the 
landscapes  of  Greenland ;  filling  every  valley  and 
canon  with  only  the  tops  of  the  fountain  peaks  ris- 
ing darkly  above  the  rock-encumbered  ice-waves 
like  islets  in  a  stormy  sea — those  islets  the  only 
hints  of  the  glorious  landscapes  now  smiling  in  the 
sun.  Standing  here  in  the  deep,  brooding  silence 
all  the  wilderness  seems  motionless,  as  if  the  work 
of  creation  were  done.  But  in  the  midst  of  this 
outer  steadfastness  we  know  there  is  incessanl 
motion  and  change.  Ever  and  anon,  avalanches 
are  falling  from  yonder  peaks.     These  cliff-bound 


70  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFORNIA 

glaciers,  seemingly  wedged  and  immovable,  are 
flowing  like  water  and  grinding  the  rocks  beneath 
them.  The  lakes  are  lapping  their  granite  shores 
and  wearing  them  away,  and  every  one  of  these 
rills  and  young  rivers  is  fretting  the  air  into  music, 
and  carrying  the  mountains  to  the  plains.  Here 
are  the  roots  of  all  the  life  of  the  valleys,  and  here 
more  simply  than  elsewhere  is  the  eternal  flux  of 
nature  manifested.  Ice  changing  to  water,  lakes  to 
meadows,  and  mountains  to  plains.  And  while  we 
thus  contemplate  Nature's  methods  of  landscape 
creation,  and,  reading  the  records  she  has  carved  on 
the  rocks,  reconstruct,  however  imperfectly,  the 
landscapes  of  the  past,  we  also  learn  that  as  these 
we  now  behold  have  succeeded  those  of  the  pre- 
glacial  age,  so  they  in  turn  are  withering  and  van- 
ishing to  be  succeeded  by  others  yet  unborn. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  fine  lessons  and  land- 
scapes, I  had  to  remember  that  the  sun  was  wheel- 
ing far  to  the  west,  while  a  new  way  down  the 
mountain  had  to  be  discovered  to  some  point  on  the 
timber  line  where  I  could  have  a  fire ;  for  I  had  not 
even  burdened  myself  with  a  coat.  I  first  scanned 
the  western  spurs,  hoping  some  way  might  appear 
through  which  I  might  reach  the  northern  glacier, 
and  cross  its  snout;  or  pass  around  the  lake  into 
which  it  flows,  and  thus  strike  my  morning  track. 
This  route  was  soon  sufficiently  unfolded  to  show 
that,  if  practicable  at  all,  it  would  require  so  much 
time  that  reaching  camp  that  night  would  be  out 
of  the  question.  I  therefore  scrambled  back  east- 
ward, descending  the  southern  slopes  obliquely  at 
the  same  time.    Here  the  crags  seemed  less  formid- 


A  NEAR  VIEW  OF  THE   HIGH   SIERRA  71 

able,  and  the  head  of  a  glacier  that  flows  north- 
east came  in  sight,  which  I  determined  to  follow  as 
far  as  possible,  hoping  thus  to  make  my  way  to 
the  foot  of  the  peak  on  the  east  side,  and  thence 
across  the  intervening  canons  and  ridges  to  camp. 

The  inclination  of  the  glacier  is  quite  moderate 
at  the  head,  and,  as  the  sun  had  softened  the  neve, 
I  made  safe  and  rapid  progress,  running  and  sliding, 
and  keeping  up  a  sharp  outlook  for  crevasses. 
About  half  a  mile  from  the  head,  there  is  an  ice- 
cascade,  where  the  glacier  pom's  over  a  sharp  de- 
clivity and  is  shattered  into  massive  blocks  sepa- 
rated by  deep,  blue  fissures.  To  thread  my  way 
through  the  slippery  mazes  of  this  crevassed  por- 
tion seemed  impossible,  and  I  endeavored  to  avoid 
it  by  climbing  off  to  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain. 
But  the  slopes  rapidly  steepened  and  at  length  fell 
away  in  sheer  precipices,  compelling  a  return  to  the 
ice.  Fortunately,  the  day  had  been  warm  enough 
to  loosen  the  ice-crystals  so  as  to  admit  of  hollows 
being  dug  in  the  rotten  portions  of  the  blocks,  thus 
enabling  me  to  pick  my  way  with  far  less  difficulty 
than  I  had  anticipated.  Continuing  down  over  the 
snout,  and  along  the  left  lateral  moraine,  was  only 
a  confident  saunter,  showing  that  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain  by  way  of  this  glacier  is  easy,  provided 
one  is  armed  with  an  ax  to  cut  steps  here  and  there. 

The  lower  end  of  the  glacier  was  beautifully- 
waved  and  barred  by  the  outcropping  edges  of  the 
bedded  ice-layers  which  represent  the  annual  snow- 
falls, and  to  some  extent  the  irregularities  of  struc- 
ture caused  by  the  weathering  of  the  walls  of  cre- 
vasses, and  by  separate  snowfalls  which  have  been 


72  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

followed  by  rain,  hail,  thawing  and  freezing,  etc. 
Small  rills  were  gliding  and  swirling  over  the  melt- 
ing surface  with  a  smooth,  oily  appearance,  in  chan- 
nels of  pure  ice — their  quick,  compliant  movements 
contrasting  most  impressively  with  the  rigid,  invi- 
sible flow  of  the  glacier  itself,  on  whose  back  they 
all  were  riding. 

Night  drew  near  before  I  reached  the  eastern 
base  of  the  mountain,  and  my  camp  lay  many  a 
rugged  mile  to  the  north ;  but  ultimate  success  was 
assured.  It  was  now  only  a  matter  of  endurance 
and  ordinary  mountain-craft.  The  sunset  was,  if 
possible,  yet  more  beautiful  than  that  of  the  day 
before.  The  Mono  landscape  seemed  to  be  fairly 
saturated  with  warm,  purple  light.  The  peaks 
marshaled  along  the  summit  were  in  shadow,  but 
through  every  notch  and  pass  streamed  vivid  sun- 
fire,  soothing  and  irradiating  their  rough,  black  an- 
gles, while  companies  of  small,  luminous  clouds 
hovered  above  them  like  very  angels  of  light. 

Darkness  came  on,  but  I  found  my  way  by  the 
trends  of  the  canons  and  the  peaks  projected 
against  the  sky.  All  excitement  died  with  the 
light,  and  then  I  was  weary.  But  the  joyful  sound 
of  the  waterfall  across  the  lake  was  heard  at  last, 
and  soon  the  stars  were  seen  reflected  in  the  lake 
itself.  Taking  my  bearings  from  these,  I  dis- 
covered the  little  pine  thicket  in  which  my  nest 
was,  and  then  I  had  a  rest  such  as  only  a  tired 
mountaineer  may  enjoy.  After  lying  loose  and 
lost  for  awhile,  I  made  a  sunrise  fire,  went  down 
to  the  lake,  dashed  water  on  my  head,  and  dipped 
a  cupful  for  tea.  The  revival  brought  about  by 
bread  and  tea  was  as  complete  as  the  exhaustion 


A   NEAR   VIEW   OF   THE    HIGH    SIERRA  73 

from  excessive  enjoyment  and  toil.  Then  I  crept 
beneath  the  pine-tassels  to  bed.  The  wind  was 
frosty  and  the  fire  burned  low,  but  my  sleep  was 
none  the  less  sound,  and  the  evening  constellations 
had  swept  far  to  the  west  before.  I  awoke. 

After  thawing  and  resting  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine, I  sauntered  home, —  that  is,  back  to  the  Tuol- 
umne camp, — bearing  away  toward  a  cluster  of 
peaks  that  hold  the  fountain  snows  of  one  of  the 
north  tributaries  of  Rush  Creek.  Here  I  discovered 
a  group  of  beautiful  glacier  lakes,  nestled  toge- 
ther in  a  grand  amphitheater.  Toward  evening,  I 
crossed  the  divide  separating  the  Mono  waters 
from  those  of  the  Tuolumne,  and  entered  the 
glacier  basin  that  now  holds  the  fountain  snows 
of  the  stream  that  forms  the  upper  Tuolumne  cas- 
cades. This  stream  I  traced  down  through  its 
many  dells  and  gorges,  meadows  and  bogs,  reach- 
ing the  brink  of  the  main  Tuolumne  at  dusk. 

A  loud  whoop  for  the  artists  was  answered  again 
and  again.  Their  camp-fire  came  in  sight,  and 
half  an  hour  afterward  I  was  with  them.  They 
seemed  unreasonably  glad  to  see  me.  I  had  been 
absent  only  three  days;  nevertheless,  though  the 
weather  was  fine,  they  had  already  been  weighing 
chances  as  to  whether  I  would  ever  return,  and 
trying  to  decide  whether  they  should  wait  longer 
or  begin  to  seek  their  way  back  to  the  lowlands. 
Now  their  curious  troubles  were  over.  They 
packed  their  precious  sketches,  and  next  morning 
we  set  out  homeward  bound,  and  in  two  days 
entered  the  Yosemite  Valley  from  the  north  by 
way  of  Indian  Canon. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   PASSES 

TI1HE  sustained  grandeur  of  the  High  Sierra  is 
|  strikingly  illustrated  by  the  great  height  of 
the  passes.  Between  latitude  36°  20'  and  38°  the 
lowest  pass,  gap,  gorge,  or  notch  of  any  kind  cut- 
ting across  the  axis  of  the  range,  as  far  as  I  have 
discovered,  exceeds  9000  feet  in  height  above  the 
level  of  the  sea;  while  the  average  height  of  all 
that  are  in  use,  either  by  Indians  or  whites,  is  per- 
haps not  less  than  11,000  feet,  and  not  one  of  these 
is  a  carriage-pass. 

Farther  north  a  carriage-road  has  been  con- 
structed through  what  is  known  as  the  Sonora 
Pass,  on  the  head  waters  of  the  Stanislaus  and 
Walker's  rivers,  the  summit  of  which  is  about  10,000 
feet  above  the  sea.  Substantial  wagon-roads  have 
also  been  built  through  the  Carson  and  Johnson 
passes,  near  the  head  of  Lake  Tahoe,  over  which 
immense  quantities  of  freight  were  hauled  from 
California  to  the  mining  regions  of  Nevada,  before 
the  construction  of  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad. 

Still  farther  north  a  considerable  number  of  com- 
paratively low  passes  occur,  some  of  which  are  ac- 
cessible to  wheeled  vehicles,  and  through  these 
rugged  defiles  during  the  exciting  years  of  the  gold 

74 


THE   PASSES  75 

period  long  emigrant-trains  with  foot-sore  cattle 
wearily  toiled.  After  the  toil-worn  adventurers 
had  escaped  a  thousand  dangers  and  had  crawled 
thousands  of  miles  across  the  plains  the  snows- 
Sierra  at  last  loomed  in  sight,  the  eastern  wall  of 
the  land  of  gold.  And  as  with  shaded  eyes  they 
gazed  through  the  tremulous  haze  of  the  desert, 
with  what  joy  must  they  have  descried  the  pass 
through  which  they  were  to  enter  the  better  land 
of  their  hopes  and  dreams ! 

Between  the  Sonora  Pass  and  the  southern  ex- 
tremity of  the  High  Sierra,  a  distance  of  nearly  160 
miles,  there  are  only  five  passes  through  which 
trails  conduct  from  one  side  of  the  range  to  the 
other.  These  are  barely  practicable  for  animals ;  a 
pass  in  these  regions  meaning  simply  any  notch  or 
canon  through  which  one  may,  by  the  exercise  of 
unlimited  patience,  make  out  to  lead  a  mule,  or  a 
sure-footed  mustang;  animals  that  can  slide  or 
jump  as  well  as  walk.  Only  three  of  the  five  passes 
may  be  said  to  be  in  use,  viz. :  the  Kearsarge,  Mono, 
and  Virginia  Creek;  the  tracks  leading  through  the 
others  being  only  obscure  Indian  trails,  not  graded 
in  the  least,  and  scarcely  traceable  by  white  men  ; 
for  much  of  the  way  is  over  solid  rock  ami  earth- 
quake avalanche  taluses,  where  the  unshod  ponies 
of  the  Indians  leave  no  appreciable  sign.  Only 
skilled  mountaineers  are  able  to  detect  the  marks 
that  serve  to  guide  the  Indians,  such  as  slight 
abrasions  of  the  looser  rocks,  the  displacement  of 
stones  here  and  there,  and  bent  bushes  and  weeds. 
A  general  knowledge  of  the  topography  is,  then, 
the  main  guide,  enabling  one  to  determine  where 


76  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  trail  ought  to  go — must  go.  One  of  these  In- 
dian trails  crosses  the  range  by  a  nameless  pass 
1m 'tween  the  head  waters  of  the  south  and  middle 
forks  of  the  San  Joaquin,  the  other  between  the 
north  and  middle  forks  of  the  same  river,  just  to 
the  south  of  "  The  Minarets  " ;  this  last  being  about 
9000  feet  high,  is  the  lowest  of  the  five.  The  Kear- 
sarge  is  the  highest,  crossing  the  summit  near  the 
head  of  the  south  fork  of  King's  River,  about  eight 
miles  to  the  north  of  Mount  Tyndall,  through  the 
midst  of  the  most  stupendous  rock-scenery.  The 
summit  of  this  pass  is  over  12,000  feet  above  sea- 
level  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  one  of  the  safest  of  the  five, 
and  is  used  every  summer,  from  July  to  October 
or  November,  by  hunters,  prospectors,  and  stock- 
owners,  and  to  some  extent  by  enterprising  pleasure- 
seekers  also.  For,  besides  the  surpassing  grandeur 
of  the  scenery  about  the  summit,  the  trail,  in  as- 
cending the  western  flank  of  the  range,  conducts 
through  a  grove  of  the  giant  Sequoias,  and  through 
the  magnificent  Yosemite  Valley  of  the  south  fork 
of  King's  River.  This  is,  perhaps,  the  highest  trav- 
eled pass  on  the  North  American  continent. 

The  Mono  Pass  lies  to  the  east  of  Yosemite  Val- 
ley, at  the  head  of  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the 
south  fork  of  the  Tuolumne.  This  is  the  best 
known  and  most  extensively  traveled  of  all  that 
exist  in  the  High  Sierra.  A  trail  was  made  through 
it  about  the  time  of  the  Mono  gold  excitement,  in 
the  year  1858,  by  adventurous  miners  and  prospec- 
tors—  men  who  would  build  a  trail  down  the  throat 
of  darkest  Erebus  on  the  way  to  gold.  Though 
more  than  a  thousand  feet  lower  than  the  Kear- 


78  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

sarge,  it  is  scarcely  less  sublime  in  rock-scenery, 
while  in  snowy,  falling  water  it  far  surpasses  it. 
Being  so  favorably  situated  for  the  stream  of  Yo- 
semite  travel,  the  more  adventurous  tourists  cross 
over  through  this  glorious  gateway  to  the  volcanic 
region  around  Mono  Lake.  It  has  therefore  gained 
a  name  and  fame  above  every  other  pass  in  the 
range.  According  to  the  few  barometrical  observa- 
tions made  upon  it,  its  highest  point  is  10,765 
feet  above  the  sea.  The  other  pass  of  the  five  we 
have  been  considering  is  somewhat  lower,  and 
crosses  the  axis  of  the  range  a  few  miles  to  the 
north  of  the  Mono  Pass,  at  the  head  of  the  south- 
ernmost tributary  of  Walker's  River.  It  is  used 
chiefly  by  roaming  bands  of  the  Pah  Ute  Indians 
and  "  sheepmen." 

But,  leaving  wheels  and  animals  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, the  free  mountaineer  with  a  sack  of  bread  on 
his  shoulders  and  an  ax  to  cut  steps  in  ice  and 
frozen  snow  can  make  his  way  across  the  range  al- 
most everywhere,  and  at  any  time  of  year  when  the 
weather  is  calm.  To  him  nearly  every  notch  be- 
tween the  peaks  is  a  pass,  though  much  patient 
step-cutting  is  at  times  required  up  and  down 
steeply  inclined  glaciers,  with  cautious  climbing 
over  precipices  that  at  first  sight  would  seem  hope- 
lessly inaccessible. 

In  pursuing  my  studies,  I  have  crossed  from 
side  to  side  of  the  range  at  intervals  of  a  few  miles 
all  along  the  highest  portion  of  the  chain,  with  far 
less  real  danger  than  one  would  naturally  count 
on.  And  what  fine  wildness  was  thus  revealed — 
storms  and  avalanches,  lakes  and  waterfalls,  gar- 


THE  PASSES  79 

dens  and  meadows,  and  interesting  animals — only 
those  will  ever  know  who  give  the  freest  and  most 
buoyant  portion  of  their  lives  to  climbing  and  see- 
ing for  themselves. 

To  the  timid  traveler,  fresh  from  the  sedimen- 
tary levels  of  the  lowlands,  these  highways,  how- 
ever picturesque  and  grand,  seem  terribly  forbid- 
ding— cold,  dead,  gloomy  gashes  in  the  bones  of 
the  mountains,  and  of  all  Nature's  ways  the  ones 
to  be  most  cautiously  avoided.  Yet  they  are  full 
of  the  finest  and  most  telling  examples  of  Nature's 
love;  and  though  hard  to  travel,  none  are  safe]-. 
For  they  lead  through  regions  that  lie  far  above 
the  ordinary  haunts  of  the  devil,  and  of  the  pesti- 
lence that  walks  in  darkness.  True,  there  are 
innumerable  places  where  the  careless  step  will  be 
the  last  step;  and  a  rock  falling  from  the  cliffs 
may  crush  without  warning  like  lightning  from 
the  sky ;  but  what  then  ?  Accidents  in  the  moun- 
tains are  less  common  than  in  the  lowlands,  and 
these  mountain  mansions  are  decent,  delightful, 
even  divine,  places  to  die  in,  compared  with  the 
doleful  chambers  of  civilization.  Few  places  in 
this  world  are  more  dangerous  than  home.  Fear 
not,  therefore,  to  try  the  mountain-passes.  They 
will  kill  care,  save  you  from  deadly  apathy,  set  you 
free,  and  call  forth  every  faculty  into  vigorous, 
enthusiastic  action.  Even  the  sick  should  try 
these  so-called  dangerous  passes,  because  for  every 
unfortunate  they  kill,  they  cure  a  thousand. 

All  the  passes  make  their  steepest  ascents  on 
the  eastern  flank.  On  this  side  the  average  rise  is 
not  far  from  a  thousand  feet  to  the  mile,  while  on 


80  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  west  it  is  about  two  hundred  feet.  Another 
marked  difference  between  the  eastern  and  western 
portions  of  the  passes  is  that  the  former  begin  at 
the  very  foot  of  the  range,  while  the  latter  can 
hardly  be  said  to  begin  lower  than  an  elevation  of 
from  seven  to  ten  thousand  feet.  Approaching  the 
range  from  the  gray  levels  of  Mono  and  Owen's 
Valley  on  the  east,  the  traveler  sees  before  him  the 
steep,  short  passes  in  full  view,  fenced  in  by  rug- 
ged spurs  that  come  plunging  down  from  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  peaks  on  either  side,  the  courses  of 
the  more  direct  being  disclosed  from  top  to  bottom 
without  interruption.  But  from  the  west  one  sees 
nothing  of  the  way  he  may  be  seeking  until  near 
the  summit,  after  days  have  been  spent  in  thread- 
ing the  forests  growing  on  the  main  dividing 
ridges  between  the  river  canons. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  surely  the  alp- 
crossing  animals  of  every  kind  fall  into  the  same 
trails.  The  more  rugged  and  inaccessible  the  gen- 
eral character  of  the  topography  of  any  particular 
region,  the  more  surely  will  the  trails  of  white 
men,  Indians,  bears,  wild  sheep,  etc.,  be  found 
converging  into  the  best  passes.  The  Indians  of 
the  western  slope  venture  cautiously  over  the 
passes  in  settled  weather  to  attend  dances,  and 
obtain  loads  of  pine-nuts  and  the  larvae  of  a  small 
fly  that  breeds  in  Mono  and  Owen's  lakes,  which, 
when  dried,  forms  an  important  article  of  food; 
while  the  Pah  Utes  cross  over  from  the  east  to 
hunt  the  deer  and  obtain  supplies  of  acorns;  and 
it  is  truly  astonishing  to  see  what  immense  loads 
the  haggard  old  squaws  make  out  to  carry  barer 


THE  PASSES  81 

footed  through  these  rough  passes,  oftentimes  for 
a  distance  of  sixty  or  seventy  miles.  They  are 
always  accompanied  by  the  men,  who  stride  on, 
unburdened  and  erect,  a  little  in  advance,  kindly 
stooping  at  difficult  places  to  pile  stepping-stones 
for  their  patient,  pack-animal  wives,  just  as  they 
would  prepare  the  way  for  their  ponies. 

Bears  evince  great  sagacity  as  mountaineers,  but 
although  they  are  tireless  and  enterprising  travel- 
ers they  seldom  cross  the  range.  I  have  several 
times  tracked  them  through  the  Mono  Pass,  but 
only  in  late  years,  after  cattle  and  sheep  had 
passed  that  way,  when  they  doubtless  were  follow- 
ing to  feed  on  the  stragglers  and  on  those  that 
had  been  killed  by  falling  over  the  rocks.  Even 
the  wild  sheep,  the  best  mountaineers  of  all,  chouse 
regular  passes  in  making  journeys  across  the  sum- 
mits. Deer  seldom  cross  the  range  in  either  direc- 
tion. I  have  never  yet  observed  a  single  specimen 
of  the  mule-deer  of  the  Great  Basin  west  of  the 
summit,  and  rarely  one  of  the  black-tailed  species 
on  the  eastern  slope,  notwithstanding  many  of  the 
latter  ascend  the  range  nearly  to  the  summit  every 
summer,  to  feed  in  the  wild  gardens  and  bring 
forth  their  young. 

The  glaciers  are  the  pass-makers,  and  it  is  by 
them  that  the  courses  of  all  mountaineers  are  pre- 
destined. Without  exception  every  pass  in  the 
Sierra  was  created  by  them  without  the  slightest 
aid  or  predetermining  guidance  from  any  of  the 
cataclysmic  agents.  I  have  seen  elaborate  state- 
ments of  the  amount  of  drilling  and  blasting  ac- 
complished   in  the    construction   of  the   railroad 


82  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

across  the  Sierra,  above  Donner  Lake;  but  for 
every  pound  of  rock  moved  in  this  way,  the  gla- 
ciers which  descended  east  and  west  through  this 
same  pass,  crushed  and  carried  away  more  than 
a  hundred  tons. 

The  so-called  practicable  road-passes  are  simply 
those  portions  of  the  range  more  degraded  by 
glacial  action  than  the  adjacent  portions,  and  de- 
graded in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  the  summits 
rounded,  instead  of  sharp;  while  the  peaks,  from 
the  superior  strength  and  hardness  of  their  rocks, 
or  from  more  favorable  position,  having  suffered 
less  degradation,  are  left  towering  above  the  passes 
as  if  they  had  been  heaved  into  the  sky  by  some 
force  acting  from  beneath. 

The  scenery  of  all  the  passes,  especially  at  the 
head,  is  of  the  wildest  and  grandest  description, — 
lofty  peaks  massed  together  and  laden  around  their 
bases  with  ice  and  snow ;  chains  of  glacier  lakes ; 
cascading  streams  in  endless  variety,  with  glorious 
views,  westward  over  a  sea  of  rocks  and  woods, 
and  eastward  over  strange  ashy  plains,  volcanoes, 
and  the  dry,  dead-looking  ranges  of  the  Great  Ba- 
sin. Every  pass,  however,  possesses  treasures  of 
beauty  all  its  own. 

Having  thus  in  a  general  way  indicated  the 
height,  leading  features,  and  distribution  of  the 
principal  passes,  I  will  now  endeavor  to  describe 
the  Mono  Pass  in  particular,  which  may,  I  think, 
be  regarded  as  a  fair  example  of  the  higher  alpine 
passes  in  general. 

The  main  portion  of  the  Mono  Pass  is  formed 


THE   PASSES  83 

by  Bloody  Canon,  which  begins  at  the  summit  of 
the  range,  and  rims  in  a  general  east-northeasterly 
direction  to  the  edge  of  the  Mono  Plain. 

The  first  white  men  who  forced  a  way  through 
its  somber  depths  were,  as  we  have  seen,  eager 
gold-seekers.  But  the  canon  was  known  and  trav- 
eled as  a  pass  by  the  Indians  and  mountain  ani- 
mals long  before  its  discovery  by  white  men,  as 
is  shown  by  the  numerous  tributary  trails  which 
come  into  it  from  every  direction.  Its  name  ac- 
cords well  with  the  character  of  the  "early  times" 
in  California,  and  may  perhaps  have  been  sug- 
gested by  the  predominant  color  of  the  meta- 
morphic  slates  in  which  it  is  in  great  part  eroded ; 
or  more  probably  by  blood-stains  made  by  the  un- 
fortunate animals  which  were  compelled  to  slip 
and  shuffle  awkwardly  over  its  rough,  cutting 
rocks.  I  have  never  known  an  animal,  either  mule 
or  horse,  to  make  its  way  through  the  canon, 
either  in  going  up  or  down,  without  losing  more 
or  less  blood  from  wounds  on  the  legs.  Occasion- 
ally one  is  killed  outright  —  falling  headlong  and 
rolling  over  precipices  like  a  boulder.  But  such 
accidents  are  rarer  than  from  the  terrible  appear- 
ance of  the  trail  one  would  be  led  to  expect ;  the 
more  experienced  when  driven  loose  find  their  way 
over  the  dangerous  places  with  a  caution  and  sa- 
gacity that  is  truly  wonderful.  During  the  gold 
excitement  it  was  at  times  a  matter  of  considerable 
pecuniary  importance  to  force  a  way  through  I  lie 
canon  with  pack-trains  early  in  the  spring  while 
it  was  yet  heavily  blocked  with  snow ;    and  then 


84  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  mules  with  their  loads  had  sometimes  to  be  let 
down  over  the  steepest  drifts  and  avalanche  beds 
by  means  of  ropes. 

A  good  bridle-path  leads  from  Yosemite  through 
many  a  grove  and  meadow  up  to  the  head  of  the 
canon,  a  distance  of  about  thirty  miles.  Here  the 
scenery  undergoes  a  sudden  and  startling  conden- 
sation. Mountains,  red,  gray,  and  black,  rise  close 
at  hand  on  the  right,  whitened  around  their  bases 
with  banks  of  enduring  snow;  on  the  left  swells 
the  huge  red  mass  of  Mount  Gribbs,  while  in  front 
the  eye  wanders  down  the  shadowy  canon,  and  out 
on  the  warm  plain  of  Mono,  where  the  lake  is  seen 
gleaming  like  a  burnished  metallic  disk,  with  clus- 
ters of  lofty  volcanic  cones  to  the  south  of  it. 

"When  at  length  we  enter  the  mountain  gateway, 
the  somber  rocks  seem  aware  of  our  presence, 
and  seem  to  come  thronging  closer  about  us. 
Happily  the  ouzel  and  the  old  familiar  robin  are 
here  to  sing  us  Avelcome,  and  azure  daisies  beam 
with  trustfulness  and  sympathy,  enabling  us  to 
feel  something  of  Nature's  love  even  here,  beneath 
the  gaze  of  her  coldest  rocks. 

The  effect  of  this  expressive  outspokenness  on 
the  part  of  the  canon-rocks  is  greatly  enhanced 
by  the  quiet  aspect  of  the  alpine  meadows  through 
which  we  pass  just  before  entering  the  narrow 
gateway.  The  forests  in  which  they  lie,  and  the 
mountain-tops  rising  beyond  them,  seem  quiet  and 
tranquil.  We  catch  their  restful  spirit,  yield  to 
the  soothing  influences  of  the  sunshine,  and  saun- 
ter dreamily  on  through  flowers  and  bees,  scarce 
touched  by  a  definite  thought ;  then  suddenly  we 


THE   PASSES  85 

find  ourselves  in  the  shadowy  canon,  closeted  with 
Nature  in  one  of  her  wildest  strongholds. 

After  Hk1  first  bewildering  impression  begins  to 
wear  off,  we  perceive  thai  it  is  no!  altogether  ter- 
rible; for  besides  the  reassuring  birds  and  flowers 
Ave  discover  a  chain  of  shining  lakelets  hanging 
down  from  the  very  summit  of  the  pass,  and  linked 
together  by  a  silvery  stream.  The  highest  are  set 
in  bleak,  rough  bowls,  scantily  fringed  with  brown 
and  yellow  sedges.  Winter  storms  blow  snow 
through  the  canon  in  blinding  drifts,  and  ava- 
lanches shoot  from  the  heights.  Then  are  these 
sparkling  tarns  filled  and  buried,  leaving  not  a 
hint  of  their  existence.  In  June  and  July  they 
begin  to  blink  and  thaw  out  like  sleepy  eyes,  the 
carices  thrust  up  their  short  brown  spikes,  the 
daisies  bloom  in  turn,  and  the  most  profoundly 
buried  of  them  all  is  at  length  warmed  and  sum- 
mered as  if  winter  were  only  a  dream. 

Red  Lake  is  the  lowest  of  the  chain,  and  also 
the  largest.  It  seems  rather  dull  and  forbidding 
at  first  sight,  lying  motionless  in  its  deep,  dark 
bed.  The  canon  wall  rises  sheer  from  the  water's 
edge  on  the  south,  but  on  the  opposite  side  there 
is  sufficient  space  and  sunshine  for  a  sedgy  daisy 
garden,  the  center  of  which  is  brilliantly  lighted 
with  lilies,  castilleias,  larkspurs,  and  columbines, 
sheltered  from  the  wind  by  leafy  willows,  and 
forming  a  most  joyful  outburst  of  plant-life  keenly 
emphasized  by  the  chill  baldness  of  the  onlooking 
cliffs. 

After  indulging  here  in  a  dozing,  shimmering 
lake-rest,  the  happy  stream  sets  forth  again,  warb- 


86  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ling  and  trilling  like  an  ouzel,  ever  delightfully 
confiding,  no  matter  how  dark  the  way;  leaping, 
gliding,  hither,  thither,  clear  or  foaming :  manifest- 
ing the  beauty  of  its  wildness  in  every  sound  and 
gesture. 

One  of  its  most  beautiful  developments  is  the 
Diamond  Cascade,  situated  a  short  distance  below 
Red  Lake.  Here  the  tense,  crystalline  water  is  first 
dashed  into  coarse,  granular  spray  mixed  with 
dusty  foam,  and  then  divided  into  a  diamond  pat- 
tern by  following  the  diagonal  cleavage-joints  that 
intersect  the  face  of  the  precipice  over  which  it 
pours.  Viewed  in  front,  it  resembles  a  strip  of 
embroidery  of  definite  pattern,  varying  through 
the  seasons  with  the  temperature  and  the  volume 
of  water.  Scarce  a  flower  may  be  seen  along  its 
snowy  border.  A  few  bent  pines  look  on  from  a 
distance,  and  small  fringes  of  cassiope  and  rock- 
ferns  are  growing  in  fissures  near  the  head,  but 
these  are  so  lowly  and  undemonstrative  that  only 
the  attentive  observer  will  be  likely  to  notice  them. 

On  the  north  wall  of  the  canon,  a  little  below 
the  Diamond  Cascade,  a  glittering  side  stream 
makes  its  appearance,  seeming  to  leap  directly 
out  of  the  sky.  It  first  resembles  a  crinkled  ribbon 
of  silver  hanging  loosely  down  the  wall,  but  grows 
wider  as  it  descends,  and  dashes  the  dull  rock  with 
foam.  A  long  rough  talus  curves  up  against  this 
part  of  the  cliff,  overgrown  with  snow-pressed  wil- 
lows, in  which  the  fall  disappears  with  many  an 
eager  surge  and  swirl  and  plashing  leap,  finally 
beating  its  way  down  to  its  confluence  with  the 
main  canon  stream. 


THE  PASSES  87 

Below  this  point  the  climate  is  no  longer  arctic. 
Butterflies  become  larger  and  more  abundant, 
grasses  with  imposing  spread  of  panicle  wave 
above  your  shoulders,  and  the  summery  drone  of 
the  bumblebee  thickens  the  air.  The  Dwarf  Pine, 
the  tree-mountaineer  that  climbs  highest  and 
braves  the  coldest  blasts,  is  found  scattered  in 
stormbeaten  clumps  from  the  summit  of  the  pass 
about  half-way  down  the  canon.  Here  it  is  suc- 
ceeded by  the  hardy  Two-leaved  Pine,  which  is 
speedily  joined  by  the  taller  Yellow  and  Mountain 
Pines.  These,  with  the  burly  juniper,  and  shim- 
mering aspen,  rapidly  grow  larger  as  the  sunshine 
becomes  richer,  forming  groves  that  block  the 
view;  or  they  stand  more  apart  here  and  there 
in  picturesque  groups,  that  make  beautiful  and 
obvious  harmony  with  the  rocks  and  with  one 
another.  Blooming  underbrush  becomes  abun- 
dant,—  azalea,  spiraea,  and  the  brier-rose  weaving 
fringes  for  the  streams,  and  shaggy  rugs  to  relieve 
the  stern,  unflinching  rock-bosses. 

Through  this  delightful  wilderness,  Canon  Creek 
roves  without  any  constraining  channel,  throbbing 
and  wavering;  now  in  sunshine,  now  in  thoughtful 
shade ;  falling,  swirling,  flashing  from  side  to  side 
in  weariless  exuberance  of  energy.  A  glorious  milky 
way  of  cascades  is  thus  developed,  of  which  Bower 
Cascade,  though  one  of  the  smallest,  is  perhaps  the 
most  beautiful  of  them  all.  It  is  situated  in  the 
lower  region  of  the  pass,  just  where  the  sunshine 
begins  to  mellow  between  the  cold  and  warm  cli- 
mates. Here  the  glad  creek,  grown  strong  with 
tribute  gathered  from  many  a  snowy  fountain  on 


88  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  heights,  sings  richer  strains,  and  becomes  more 
human  and  lovable  at  every  step.  Now  you  may 
by  its  side  find  the  rose  and  homely  yarrow,  and 
small  meadows  full  of  bees  and  clover.  At  the 
head  of  a  low-browed  rock,  luxuriant  dogwood 
bushes  and  willows  arch  over  from  bank  to  bank, 
embowering  the  stream  with  their  leafy  branches ; 
and  drooping  plumes,  kept  in  motion  by  the  cur- 
rent, fringe  the  brow  of  the  cascade  in  front.  From 
this  leafy  covert  the  stream  leaps  out  into  the  light 
in  a  fluted  curve  thick  sown  with  sparkling  crystals, 
and  falls  into  a  pool  filled  with  brown  boulders,  out 
of  which  it  creeps  gray  with  foam-bells  and  disap- 
pears in  a  tangle  of  verdure  like  that  from  which 
it  came, 

Hence,  to  the  foot  of  the  canon,  the  metamorphic 
slates  give  place  to  granite,  whose  nobler  sculpture 
calls  forth  expressions  of  corresponding  beauty 
from  the  stream  in  passing  over  it, —  bright  trills  of 
rapids,  booming  notes  of  falls,  solemn  hushes  of 
smooth-gliding  sheets,  all  chanting  and  blending  in 
glorious  harmony.  When,  at  length,  its  impetu- 
ous alpine  life  is  done,  it  slips  through  a  meadow 
with  scarce  an  audible  whisper,  and  falls  asleep  in 
Moraine  Lake. 

This  water-bed  is  one  of  the  finest  I  ever  saw. 
Evergreens  wave  soothingly  about  it,  and  the 
breath  of  flowers  floats  over  it  like  incense.  Here 
our  blessed  stream  rests  from  its  rocky  wanderings, 
all  its  mountaineering  done, —  no  more  foaming 
rock-leaping,  no  more  wild,  exulting  song.  It  falls 
into  a  smooth,  glassy  sleep,  stirred  only  by  the 
night-wind,  which,  coming  down  the  canon,  makes 


THE   PASSES  89 

it  croon  and  mutter  in  ripples  along  its  broidered 
shores. 

Leaving  the  lake,  it  glides  quietly  through  the 
rushes,  destined  never  more  to  touch  the  living 
rock.  Henceforth  its  path  lies  through  ancienl 
moraines  and  reaches  of  ashy  sage-plain,  which  no- 
where afford  rocks  suitable  for  the  development  of 
cascades  or  sheer  falls.  Yet  this  beauty  of  maturity, 
though  less  striking,  is  of  a  still  higher  order,  en- 
ticing us  lovingly  on  through  gentian  meadows 
and  groves  of  rustling  aspen  to  Lake  Mono,  where, 
spirit-like,  our  happy  stream  vanishes  in  vapor,  and 
il<  >ats  free  again  in  the  sky. 

Bloody  Canon,  like  every  other  in  the  Sierra,  was 
recently  occupied  by  a  glacier,  which  derived  its 
fountain  snows  from  the  adjacent  summits,  and 
descended  into  Mono  Lake,  at  a  time  when  its 
waters  stood  at  a  much  higher  level  than  now. 
The  principal  characters  in  which  the  history  of 
the  ancient  glaciers  is  preserved  are  displayed  here 
in  marvelous  freshness  and  simplicity,  furnishing 
the  student  with  extraordinary  advantages  for  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  of  this  sort.  The  mosl 
striking  passages  are  polished  and  striated  surfaces, 
which  in  many  places  reflect  the  rays  of  the  sun 
like  smooth  water.  The  dam  of  Red  Lake  is  an 
elegantly  modeled  rib  of  metamorphic  slate,  brought 
into  relief  because  of  its  superior  strength,  and  1  lo- 
calise of  the  greater  intensity  of  the  glacial  erosion 
of  the  rock  immediately  above  it,  caused  by  a 
steeply  inclined  tributary  glacier,  which  entered  the 
main  trunk  with  a  heavy  down-thrust  at  the  head 
of  the  lake. 


90  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

Moraine  Lake  furnishes  an  equally  interesting 
example  of  a  basin  formed  wholly,  or  in  part,  by  a 
terminal  moraine  dam  curved  across  the  path  of 
a  stream  between  two  lateral  moraines. 

At  Moraine  Lake  the  canon  proper  terminates, 
although  apparently  continued  by  the  two  lateral 
moraines  of  the  vanished  glacier.  These  moraines 
are  about  300  feet  high,  and  extend  unbrokenly 
from  the  sides  of  the  canon  into  the  plain,  a  dis- 
tance of  about  five  miles,  curving  and  tapering  in 
beautiful  lines.  Their  sunward  sides  are  gardens, 
their  shady  sides  are  groves;  the  former  devoted 
chiefly  to  eriogonae,  composite,  and  graminsB ;  a 
square  rod  containing  five  or  six  profusely  flowered 
eriogonums  of  several  species,  about  the  same 
number  of  bahia  and  linosyris,  and  a  few  grass 
tufts ;  each  species  being  planted  trimly  apart,  with 
bare  gravel  between,  as  if  cultivated  artificially. 

My  first  visit  to  Bloody  Canon  was  made  in  the 
summer  of  1869,  under  circumstances  well  calcu- 
lated to  heighten  the  impressions  that  are  the  pe- 
culiar offspring  of  mountains.  I  came  from  the 
blooming  tangles  of  Florida,  and  waded  out  into  the 
plant-gold  of  the  great  valley  of  California,  when 
its  flora  was  as  yet  untrodden.  Never  before  had 
I  beheld  congregations  of  social  flowers  half  so  ex- 
tensive or  half  so  glorious.  Golden  composite 
covered  all  the  ground  from  the  Coast  Range  to 
the  Sierra  like  a  stratum  of  curdled  sunshine,  in 
which  I  reveled  for  weeks,  watching  the  rising  and 
setting  of  their  innumerable  suns;  then  I  gave 
myself  up  to  be  borne  forward  on  the  crest  of  the 
summer  wave  that  sweeps  annually  up  the  Sierra 
and  spends  itself  on  the  snowy  summits. 


THE   PASSES  91 

At  the  Big  Tuolumne  Meadows  I  remained  more 
than  a  month,  sketching,  botanizing,  and  climbing 
among-  the  surrounding  mountains.  The  moun- 
taineer with  whom  1  then  happened  to  be  camping 
was  one  of  those  remarkable  men  one  so  frequently 
meets  in  California,  the  hard  angles  and  bosses  of 
whose  characters  have  been  brought  into  relief  by 
the  grinding  excitements  of  the  gold  period,  until 
they  resemble  glacial  landscapes.  But  at  this  late 
day,  my  friend's  activities  had  subsided,  and  his 
craving  for  rest  caused  him  to  become  a  gentle 
shepherd  and  literally  to  he  down  with  the  lamb. 

Recognizing  the  unsatisfiable  longings  of  my 
Scotch  Highland  instincts,  he  threw  out  some  hints 
concerning  Bloody  Canon,  and  advised  me  to  ex- 
plore it.  "I  have  never  seen  it  myself,"  he  said, 
"for  I  never  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  pass  that 
way.  But  I  have  heard  many  a  strange  story  about 
it,  and  I  warrant  you  will  at  least  find  it  wild 
enough." 

Then  of  course  I  made  haste  to  see  it.  Early 
next  morning  I  made  up  a  bundle  of  bread,  tied  my 
note-book  to  my  belt,  and  strode  away  in  the  brac- 
ing air,  full  of  eager,  indefinite  hope.  The  plushy 
lawns  that  lay  in  my  path  served  to  soothe  my  morn- 
ing haste.  The  sod  in  many  places  was  starred  with 
daisies  and  blue  gentians,  over  which  I  lingered. 
I  traced  the  paths  of  the  ancient  glaciers  over  many 
a  shining  pavement,  and  marked  the  gaps  in  the 
upper  forests  that  told  the  power  of  the  winter  ava- 
lanches. Climbing  higher,  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  gradual  dwarfing  of  the  pines  in  compliance 
with  climate,  and  on  the  summit  discovered  creep- 
ing mats  of  the  arctic  willow  overgrown  with  silky 


92  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

catkins,  and  patches  of  the  dwarf  vaccinium  with 
its  round  flowers  sprinkled  in  the  grass  like  pur- 
ple hail;  while  in  every  direction  the  landscape 
stretched  sublimely  away  in  fresh  wildness — a 
manuscript  written  by  the  hand  of  Nature  alone. 

At  length,  as  I  entered  the  pass,  the  huge  rocks 
began  to  close  around  in  all  their  wild,  mysterious 
impressiveness,  when  suddenly,  as  I  was  gazing 
eagerly  about  me,  a  drove  of  gray  hairy  beings 
came  in  sight,  lumbering  toward  me  with  a  kind  of 
boneless,  wallowing  motion  like  bears. 

I  never  turn  back,  though  often  so  inclined,  and 
in  this  particular  instance,  amid  such  surroundings, 
everything  seemed  singularly  unfavorable  for  the 
calm  acceptance  of  so  grim  a  company.  Suppress- 
ing my  fears,  I  soon  discovered  that  although  as 
hairy  as  bears  and  as  crooked  as  summit  pines,  the 
strange  creatures  were  sufficiently  erect  to  belong 
to  our  own  species.  They  proved  to  be  nothing 
more  formidable  than  Mono  Indians  dressed  in  the 
skins  of  sage-rabbits.  Both  the  men  and  the  women 
begged  persistently  for  whisky  and  tobacco,  and 
seemed  so  accustomed  to  denials  that  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  convince  them  that  I  had  none  to  give. 
Excepting  the  names  of  these  two  products  of  civ- 
ilization, they  seemed  to  understand  not  a  word  of 
English ;  but  I  afterward  learned  that  they  were  on 
their  way  to  Yosemite  Valley  to  feast  awhile  on 
trout  and  procure  a  load  of  acorns  to  carry  back 
through  the  pass  to  their  huts  on  the  shore  of 
Mono  Lake. 

Occasionally  a  good  countenance  may  be  seen 
among  the  Mono  Indians,  but  these,  the  first  speci- 


THE   PASSES  93 

mens  I  had  seen,  were  mostly  ugly,  and  some  of 
them  altogether  hideous.  The  dirt  on  their  faces 
was  fabiy  stratified,  and  seemed  so  ancient  and  so 
undisturbed  it  might  almost  possess  a  geological 
significance.  The  older  faces  were,  moreover, 
strangely  blurred  and  divided  into  sections  by  fur- 
rows that  looked  like  the  cleavage -joints  of  rocks, 
suggesting  exposure  on  the  mountains  in  a  cast- 
away condition  for  ages.  Somehow  they  seemed  to 
have  no  right  place  in  the  landscape,  and  I  was 
glad  to  see  them  fading  out  of  sight  down  the  pass. 

Then  came  evening,  and  the  somber  cliffs  were 
inspired  with  the  ineffable  beauty  of  the  alpenglow. 
A  solemn  calm  fell  upon  everything.  All  the  lower 
portion  of  the  canon  was  in  gloaming  shadow,  and 
I  crept  into  a  hollow  near  one  of  the  upper  lake  Ids 
to  smooth  the  ground  in  a  sheltered  nook  for  a  bed. 
When  the  short  twilight  faded,  I  kindled  a  sunny 
fire,  made  a  cup  of  tea,  and  lay  down  to  rest  and 
look  at  the  stars.  Soon  the  night- wind  began  to 
flow  and  pour  in  torrents  among  the  jagged  peaks, 
mingling  strange  tones  with  those  of  the  waterfalls 
S(  mnding  far  below ;  and  as  I  drifted  toward  sleep 
I  began  to  experience  an  uncomfortable  feeling  <  >f 
nearness  to  the  furred  Monos.  Then  the  full  moon 
looked  down  over  the  edge  of  the  canon  wall,  her 
countenance  seemingly  filled  with  intense  concern, 
and  apparently  so  near  as  to  produce  a  startling 
effect  as  if  she  had  entered  my  bedroom,  forgetting 
all  the  world,  to  gaze  on  me  alone. 

The  night  was  full  of  strange  sounds,  and  I 
gladly  welcomed  the  morning.  Breakfast  was  soon 
done,  and  I  set  forth  in  the  exhilarating  freshness 


94  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

of  the  new  day,  rejoicing  in  the  abundance  of  pure 
wildness  so  close  about  me.  The  stupendous  rocks, 
hacked  and  scarred  with  centuries  of  storms,  stood 
sharply  out  in  the  thin  early  light,  while  down  in 
the  bottom  of  the  canon  grooved  and  polished 
bosses  heaved  and  glistened  like  swelling  sea-waves, 
telling  a  grand  old  story  of  the  ancient  glacier  that 
poured  its  crushing  floods  above  them. 

Here  for  the  first  time  I  met  the  arctic  daisies  in 
all  their  perfection  of  purity  and  spirituality, — 
gentle  mountaineers  face  to  face  with  the  stormy 
sky,  kept  safe  and  warm  by  a  thousand  miracles.  I 
leaped  lightly  from  rock  to  rock,  glorying  in  the 
eternal  freshness  and  sufficiency  of  Nature,  and  in 
the  ineffable  tenderness  with  which  she  nurtures 
her  mountain  darlings  in  the  very  fountains  of 
storms.  Fresh  beauty  appeared  at  every  step,  deli- 
cate rock-ferns,  and  groups  of  the  fairest  flowers. 
Now  another  lake  came  to  view,  now  a  waterfall. 
Never  fell  light  in  brighter  spangles,  never  fell 
water  in  whiter  foam.  I  seemed  to  float  through 
the  canon  enchanted,  feeling  nothing  of  its  rough- 
ness, and  was  out  in  the  Mono  levels  before  I  was 
aware. 

Looking  back  from  the  shore  of  Moraine  Lake, 
my  morning  ramble  seemed  all  a  dream.  There 
curved  Bloody  Canon,  a  mere  glacial  furrow  2000 
feet  deep,  with  smooth  rocks  projecting  from  the 
sides  and  braided  together  in  the  middle,  like  bulg- 
ing, swelling  muscles.  Here  the  lilies  were  higher 
than  my  head,  and  the  sunshine  was  warm  enough 
for  palms.  Yet  the  snow  around  the  arctic  willows 
was  plainly  visible  only  four  miles  away,  and  be- 


THE  PASSES  95 

tween  were  narrow  specimen  zones  of  all  the  princi- 
pal climates  of  the  globe. 

On  the  bank  of  a  small  brook  that  comes  gurg- 
ling down  the  side  of  the  left  lateral  moraine,  I 
found  a  camp-fire  still  burning,  which  no  doubt 
belonged  to  the  gray  Indians  I  had  met  on  the  sum- 
mit, and  I  listened  instinctively  and  moved  cau- 
tiously forward,  half  expecting  to  see  some  of  their 
grim  faces  peering  out  of  the  bushes. 

Passing  on  toward  the  open  plain,  I  noticed  three 
well-defined  terminal  moraines  curved  gracefully 
across  the  canon  stream,  and  joined  by  long  splices 
to  the  two  noble  laterals.  These  mark  the  halting- 
places  of  the  vanished  glacier  when  it  was  retreat- 
ing into  its  summit  shadows  on  the  breaking-up  of 
the  glacial  winter. 

Five  miles  below  the  foot  of  Moraine  Lake,  just 
where  the  lateral  moraines  lose  themselves  in  the 
plain,  there  was  a  field  of  wild  rye,  growing  in  mag- 
nificent waving  bunches  six  to  eight  feet  high,  bear- 
ing heads  from  six  to  twelve  inches  long.  Rubl  ting 
out  some  of  the  grains,  I  found  them  about  five 
eighths  of  an  inch  long,  dark-colored,  and  sweet. 
Indian  women  were  gathering  it  in  baskets,  bend- 
ing down  large  handfuls,  beating  it  out,  and  fan- 
ning it  in  the  wind.  They  were  quite  picturesque, 
coming  through  the  rye,  as  one  caught  glimpses  of 
them  here  and  there,  in  winding  lanes  and  open- 
ings, with  splendid  tufts  arching  above  their  heads, 
while  their  incessant  chat  and  laughter  showed 
their  heedless  joy. 

Like  the  rye-field,  I  found  the  so-called  desert 
vf  Mono  blooming  in  a  high  state  of  natural  culti- 


96  THE   MOUNTAINS    OF   CALIFOKNIA 

vation  with  the  wild  rose,  cherry,  aster,  and  the 
delicate  abronia;  also  innumerable  gilias,  phloxes, 
poppies,  and  bush-compositae.  I  observed  their 
gestures  and  the  various  expressions  of  their 
corollas,  inquiring  how  they  could  be  so  fresh  and 
beautiful  out  in  this  volcanic  desert.  They  told 
as  happy  a  life  as  any  plant-company  I  ever  met, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  even  the  hot  sand  and  the 
wind. 

But  the  vegetation  of  the  pass  has  been  in  great 
part  destroyed,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  all  the 
more  accessible  passes  throughout  the  range.  Im- 
mense numbers  of  starving  sheep  and  cattle  have 
been  driven  through  them  into  Nevada,  trampling 
the  wild  gardens  and  meadows  almost  out  of  exis 
tence.  The  lofty  walls  are  untouched  by  any  foot, 
and  the  falls  sing  on  unchanged ;  but  the  sight  of 
crushed  flowers  and  stripped,  bitten  bushes  goes  far 
toward  destroying  the  charm  of  wildness. 

The  canon  should  be  seen  in  winter.  A  good, 
strong  traveler,  who  knows  the  way  and  the  weather, 
might  easily  make  a  safe  excursion  through  it  from 
Yosemite  Valley  on  snow-shoes  during  some  tran- 
quil time,  when  the  storms  are  hushed.  The  lakes 
and  falls  would  be  buried  then ;  but  so,  also,  would 
be  the  traces  of  destructive  feet,  while  the  views  of 
the  mountains  in  their  winter  garb,  and  the  ride 
at  lightning  speed  down  the  pass  between  the  snowy 
walls,  would  be  truly  glorious. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE   GLACIEli  LAKES 


AMONG-  the  many  unlooked-for  treasures  that 
J-JL  are  bound  up  and  hidden  away  in  the  depths 
of  Sierra  solitudes,  none  more  surely  charm  and  sur- 
prise all  kinds  of  travelers  than  the  glacier  lakes. 
The  forests  and  the  glaciers  and  the  snowy  foun- 
tains of  the  streams  advertise  their  wealth  in  a  more 
or  less  telling  manner  even  in  the  distance,  but 
nothing  is  seen  of  the  lakes  until  we  have  climbed 
above  them.  All  the  upper  branches  of  the  rivers 
are  fairly  laden  with  lakes,  like  orchard  trees  with 
fruit.  They  lie  embosomed  in  the  deep  woods,  down 
in  the  grovy  bottoms  of  canons,  high  on  bald  table- 
lands, and  around  the  feet  of  the  icy  peaks,  mirror- 
ing back  their  wild  beauty  over  and  over  again. 
Some  conception  of  their  lavish  abundance  may  be 
made  from  the  fact  that,  from  one  standpoint  on 
the  summit  of  Red  Mountain,  a  day's  journey  to  the 
east  of  Yosemite  Valley,  no  fewer  than  forty-two 
are  displayed  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles.  The 
whole  number  in  the  Sierra  can  hardly  be  less  than 
fifteen  hundred,  not  counting  the  smaller  pools  and 
tarns,  which  are  innumerable.  Perhaps  two  thirds 
or  more  lie  on  the  western  flank  of  the  range,  and 
all  are    restricted   to    the    alpine    and    subalpine 


THE   GLACIER   LAKES  99 

regions.  At  the  close  of  the  last  glacial  period,  the 
middle  and  foot-hill  regions  also  abounded  in  lakes, 
all  of  which  have  long  since  vanished  as  completely 
as  the  magnificent  ancient  glaciers  that  brought 
them  into  existence. 

Though  the  eastern  flank  of  the  range  is  exces- 
sively steep,  we  fiud  lakes  pretty  regularly  distril  >- 
uted  throughout  even  the  most  precipitous  por- 
tions. They  are  mostly  found  in  the  upper  branches 
of  the  canons,  and  in  the  glacial  amphitheaters 
around  the  peaks. 

Occasionally  long,  narrow  specimens  occur  upon 
the  steep  sides  of  dividing  ridges,  their  basins 
swung  lengthwise  like  hammocks,  and  very  rarely 
one  is  found  lying  so  exactly  on  the  summit  of  the 
range  at  the  head  of  some  pass  that  its  waters  are 
discharged  down  both  flanks  when  the  snow  is 
melting  fast.  But,  however  situated,  they  soon 
cease  to  form  surprises  to  the  studious  mountaineer ; 
for,  like  all  the  love-work  of  Nature,  they  are  har- 
moniously related  to  one  another,  and  to  all  the 
other  features  of  the  mountains.  It  is  easy,  there- 
fore, to  find  the  bright  lake-eyes  in  the  roughest 
and  most  ungovernable-looking  topography  of  any 
landscape  countenance.  Even  in  the  lower  r< >gi <  >i  i  s, 
where  they  have  been  closed  for  many  a  century, 
their  rocky  orbits  are  still  discernible,  filled  in  with 
the  detritus  of  flood  and  avalanche.  A  beautiful  sys- 
tem of  grouping  in  correspondence  with  the  glacial 
fountains  is  soon  perceived  ;  also  their  extension  in 
the  direction  of  the  trends  of  the  ancient  glaciers; 
and  in  general  their  dependence  as  to  form,  size,  and 
position  upon  the  character  of  the  rocks  in  which 


100  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

their  basins  have  been  eroded,  and  the  quantity  and 
direction  of  application  of  the  glacial  force  ex- 
pended upon  each  basin. 

In  the  upper  canons  we  usually  find  them  in 
pretty  regular  succession,  strung  together  like 
beads  on  the  bright  ribbons  of  their  feeding- 
streams,  which  pour,  white  and  gray  with  foam  and 
spray,  from  one  to  the  other,  their  perfect  mirror 
stillness  making  impressive  contrasts  with  the  grand 
blare  and  glare  of  the  connecting  cataracts.  In 
Lake  Hollow,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Hoffman 
spur,  immediately  above  the  great  Tuolumne  canon, 
there  are  ten  lovely  lakelets  lying  near  together  in 
one  general  hollow,  like  eggs  in  a  nest.  Seen  from 
above,  in  a  general  view,  feathered  with  Hemlock 
Spruce,  and  fringed  with  sedge,  they  seem  to  me 
the  most  singularly  beautiful  and  interestingly  lo- 
cated lake-cluster  I  have  ever  yet  discovered. 

Lake  Tahoe,  22  miles  long  by  about  10  wide,  and 
from  500  to  over  1600  feet  in  depth,  is  the  largest  of 
all  the  Sierra  lakes.  It  lies  just  beyond  the  nor- 
thern limit  of  the  higher  portion  of  the  range  be- 
tween the  main  axis  and  a  spur  that  puts  oat  on  the 
east  side  from  near  the  head  of  the  Carson  River. 
Its  forested  shores  go  curving  in  and  out  around 
many  an  emerald  bay  and  pine-crowned  promon- 
tory, and  its  waters  are  everywhere  as  keenly  pure 
as  any  to  be  found  among  the  highest  mountains. 

Donner  Lake,  rendered  memorable  by  the  ter- 
rible fate  of  the  Donner  party,  is  about  three  miles 
long,  and  lies  about  ten  miles  to  the  north  of  Tahoe, 
at  the  head  of  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  Truckee. 
A  few  miles  farther  north  lies  Lake  Independence, 


THE   GLACIER  LAKES  101 

about  the  same  size  as  Dormer.  But  far  the  greater 
number  of  the  lakes  lie  much  higher  and  are  quite 
small,  few  of  them  exceeding  a  mile  in  length,  most, 
of  them  less  than  half  a  mile. 

Along  the  lower  edge  of  the  lake-belt,  the  small- 
est have  disappeared  by  the  filling-in  of  their  basins, 
leaving  only  those  of  considerable  size.  But  all 
along  the  upper  freshly  glaciated  margin  of  the 
lake-bearing  zone,  every  hollow,  however  small, 
lying  within  reach  of  any  portion  of  the  close  net- 
work of  streams,  contains  a  bright,  brimming  pool; 
so  that  the  landscape  viewed  from  the  mountain- 
tops  seems  to  be  sown  broadcast  with  them.  Many 
of  the  larger  lakes  are  encircled  with  smaller  ones 
like  central  gems  girdled  with  sparkling  brilliants. 
In  general,  however,  there  is  no  marked  dividing 
line  as  to  size.  In  order,  therefore,  to  prevent  con- 
fusion, I  would  state  here  that  in  giving  numbers, 
I  include  none  less  than  500  yards  in  circumference. 

In  the  basin  of  the  Merced  Eiver,  I  counted  131, 
of  which  111  are  upon  the  tributaries  that  fall  so 
grandly  into  Yosemite  Valley.  Pohono  Creek,  which 
forms  the  fall  of  that  name,  takes  its  rise  in  a  beau- 
tiful lake,  lying  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  lofty 
granite  spur  that  puts  out  from  Buena  Yista  peak. 
This  is  now  the  only  lake  left  in  the  whole  Pohono 
Basin.  The  Illilouette  has  sixteen,  the  Nevada  no 
fewer  than  sixty-seven,  the  Tenaya  eight,  Hoffmann 
Creek  five,  and  Yosemite  Creek  fourteen.  There 
are  but  two  other  lake-bearing  affluents  of  the 
Merced,  viz.,  the  South  Fork  with  fifteen,  and  Cas- 
cade Creek  with  five,  both  of  which  unite  with  the 
main  trunk  below  Yosemite. 


L02 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OP   CALIFOENIA 


The  Merced  River,  as  a  whole,  is  remarkably  like 
an  elm-tree,  and  it  requires  but  little  effort  on  the 
part  of  the  imagination  to  picture  it  standing  up- 
right, with  all  its  lakes  hanging  upon  its  spreading 
branches,  the  topmost  eight y  miles  in  height.  Now 
add  all  the  other  lake-bearing  rivers  of  the  Sierra, 
each  in  its  place,  and  you  will  have  a  truly  glorious 
spectacle, —  an  avenue  the  length  and  width  of  the 


LAKE    TENAYA,    ONE    OP    THE    YOSEMITE    FOUN1AINS. 

range ;  the  long,  slender,  gray  shafts  of  the  main 
trunks,  the  milky  way  of  arching  branches,  and  the 
silvery  lakes,  all  clearly  defined  and  shining  on 
the  sky.  How  excitedly  such  an  addition  to  the 
scenery  would  be  gazed  at !     Yet  these  lakef ul  riv- 


THE   GLACIEE   LAKES  103 

ers  are  still  more  excitingly  beautiful  and  impres- 
sive in  their  natural  positions  to  those  who  have 
the  eyes  to  see  them  as  they  lie  imbedded  in  their 
meadows  and  forests  and  glacier-sculptured  rocks. 
When  a  mountain  lake  is  born, —  when,  like  a 
young  eye,  it  first  opens  to  the  light, —  it  is  an 
irregular,  expressionless  crescent,  inclosed  in  banks 
of  rock  and  ice, —  bare,  glaciated  rock  on  the  lower 
side,  the  rugged  snout  of  a  glacier  on  the  upper. 
In  this  condition  it  remains  for  many  a  year,  until 
at  length,  toward  the  end  of  some  auspicious  cluster 
of  seasons,  the  glacier  recedes  beyond  the  upper 
margin  of  the  basin,  leaving  it  open  from  shore  to 
shore  for  the  first  time,  thousands  of  years  after  its 
conception  beneath  the  glacier  that  excavated  its 
basin.  The  landscape,  cold  and  bare,  is  reflected  in 
its  pure  depths ;  the  winds  ruffle  its  glassy  surface, 
and  the  sun  fills  it  with  throbbing  spangles,  while 
its  waves  begin  to  lap  and  murmur  around  its  leaf- 
less shores, —  sun-spangles  during  the  day  and  re- 
flected stars  at  night  its  only  flowers,  the  winds  and 
the  snow  its  only  visitors.  Meanwhile,  the  glacier 
continues  to  recede,  and  numerous  rills,  still 
younger  than  the  lake  itself,  bring  down  glacier- 
m nd,  sand-grains,  and  pebbles,  giving  rise  to  margin- 
rings  and  plats  of  soil.  To  these  fresh  soil-beds 
come  many  a  waiting  plant.  First,  a  hardy  carex 
with  arching  leaves  and  a  spike  of  brown  flowers ; 
then,  as  the  seasons  grow  warmer,  and  the  soil-1  >eds 
deeper  and  wider,  other  sedges  take  their  appointed 
places,  and  these  are  joined  by  blue  gentians,  daisies, 
dodecatheons,  violets,  honeyworts,  and  many  a  lowly 
moss.      Shrubs   also   hasten   in   time  to  the   new 


104  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

gardens, — kalmia  with  its  glossy  leaves  and  purple 
flowers,  the  arctic  willow,  making  soft  woven  car- 
pets, together  with  the  heathy  bryanthus  and  cas- 
siope,  the  fairest  and  dearest  of  thern  all.  Insects 
now  enrich  the  air,  frogs  pipe  cheerily  in  the  shal- 
lows, soon  followed  by  the  ouzel,  which  is  the  first 
bird  to  visit  a  glacier  lake,  as  the  sedge  is  the  first 
of  plants. 

So  the  young  lake  grows  in  beauty,  becoming 
more  and  more  humanly  lovable  from  century  to 
century.  Groves  of  aspen  spring  up,  and  hardy 
pines,  and  the  Hemlock  Spruce,  until  it  is  richly 
overshadowed  and  embowered.  But  while  its  shores 
are  being  enriched,  the  soil-beds  creep  out  with  in- 
cessant growth,  contracting  its  area,  while  the 
lighter  mud-particles  deposited  on  the  bottom  cause 
it  to  grow  constantly  shallower,  until  at  length 
the  last  remnant  of  the  lake  vanishes, —  closed  for- 
ever in  ripe  and  natural  old  age.  And  now  its 
feeding-stream  goes  winding  on  without  halting 
through  the  new  gardens  and  groves  that  have 
taken  its  place. 

The  length  of  the  life  of  any  lake  depends  ordi- 
narily upon  the  capacity  of  its  basin,  as  compared 
with  the  carrying  power  of  the  streams  that  flow 
into  it,  the  character  of  the  rocks  over  which  these 
streams  flow,  and  the  relative  position  of  the  lake 
toward  other  lakes.  In  a  series  whose  basins  lie  in 
the  same  canon,  and  are  fed  by  one  and  the  same 
main  stream,  the  uppermost  will,  of  course,  vanish 
first  unless  some  other  lake-filling  agent  comes  in 
to  modify  the  result;  because  at  first  it  receives 
nearly  all  of  the  sediments  that  the  stream  brings 


THE   GLACIER   LAKES  105 

down,  only  the  finest  of  the  mud-particles  being 
carried  through  the  highest  of  the  series  to  the 
next  below.  Then  the  next  higher,  and  the  next 
would  be  successively  filled,  and  the  lowest  would 
be  the  last  to  vanish.  But  this  simplicity  as  to 
duration  is  broken  in  upon  in  various  ways,  chiefly 
through  the  action  of  side-streams  that  enter  the 
lower  lakes  direct.  For,  notwithstanding  many  of 
these  side  tributaries  are  quite  short,  and,  during 
late  summer,  feeble,  they  all  become  powerful  tor- 
rents in  springtime  when  the  snow  is  melting,  and 
carry  not  only  sand  and  pine-needles,  but  large 
trunks  and  boulders  tons  in  weight,  sweeping  them 
down  their  steeply  inclined  channels  and  into  the 
lake  basins  with  astounding  energy.  Many  of  these 
side  affluents  also  have  the  advantage  of  access  to 
the  main  lateral  moraines  of  the  vanished  glacier 
that  occupied  the  canon,  and  upon  these  they  draw 
for  lake-filling  material,  while  the  main  trunk  stream 
flows  mostly  over  clean  glacier  pavements,  where 
but  little  moraine  matter  is  ever  left  for  them  to 
carry.  Thus  a  small  rapid  stream  with  abundance 
of  loose  transportable  material  within  its  reach  may 
fill  up  an  extensive  basin  in  a  few  centuries,  while 
a  large  perennial  trunk  stream,  flowing  over  clean, 
enduring  pavements,  though  ordinarily  a  hundred 
times  larger,  may  not  fill  a  smaller  basin  in  thou- 
sands of  years. 

The  comparative  influence  of  great  and  small 
streams  as  lake-fillers  is  strikingly  illustrated  in 
Yosemite  Valley,  through  which  the  Merced  flows. 
The  bottom  of  the  valley  is  now  composed  of  level 
meadow-lands  and  dry,  sloping  soil-beds  planted 


106  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

with  oak  and  pine,  but  it  was  once  a  lake  stretch- 
ing from  wall  to  wall  and  nearly  from  one  end  of 
the  valley  to  the  other,  forming  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  cliff-bound  sheets  of  water  that  ever 
existed  in  the  Sierra.  And  though  never  perhaps 
seen  by  human  eye,  it  was  but  yesterday,  geologi- 
cally speaking,  since  it  disappeared,  and  the  traces 
of  its  existence  are  still  so  fresh,  it  may  easily  be 
restored  to  the  eye  of  imagination  and  viewed  in 
all  its  grandeur,  about  as  truly  and  vividly  as  if 
actually  before  us.  Now  we  find  that  the  detritus 
which  fills  this  magnificent  basin  was  not  brought 
down  from  the  distant  mountains  by  the  main 
streams  that  converge  here  to  form  the  river,  how- 
ever powerful  and  available  for  the  purpose  at  first 
sight  they  appear ;  but  almost  wholly  by  the  small 
local  tributaries,  such  as  those  of  Indian  Canon, 
the  Sentinel,  and  the  Three  Brothers,  and  by  a 
few  small  residual  glaciers  which  lingered  in  the 
shadows  of  the  walls  long  after  the  main  trunk 
glacier  had  receded  beyond  the  head  of  the  valley. 
Had  the  glaciers  that  once  covered  the  range 
been  melted  at  once,  leaving  the  entire  surface 
bare  from  top  to  bottom  simultaneously,  then  of 
course  all  the  lakes  would  have  come  into  existence 
at  the  same  time,  and  the  highest,  other  circum- 
stances being  equal,  would,  as  we  have  seen,  be 
the  first  to  vanish.  But  because  they  melted  gradu- 
ally from  the  foot  of  the  range  upward,  the  lower 
lakes  were  the  first  to  see  the  light  and  the  first 
to  be  obliterated.  Therefore,  instead  of  finding  the 
lakes  of  the  present  day  at  the  foot  of  the  range,  we 
find  them  at  the  top.     Most  of  the  lower  lakes  van- 


THE  GLACIER  LAKES 


107 


ished  thousands  of  years  before  those  now  bright- 
ening the  alpine  landscapes  were  born.  And  in 
general,  owing-  to  the  deliberation  of  the  upward 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  LAKE. 


retreat  of  the  glaciers,  the  lowest  of  the  existing 
lakes  are  also  the  oldest,  a  gradual  transition  being 
apparent  throughout  the  entire  belt,  from  the  older, 
forested,  meadow-rimmed  and  contracted  forms  all 


108  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  way  up  to  those  that  are  new  born,  lying  bare 
and  meadowless  among  the  highest  peaks. 

A  few  small  lakes  unfortunately  situated  are  ex- 
tinguished suddenly  by  a  single  swoop  of  an  ava- 
lanche, carrying  down  immense  numbers  of  trees, 
together  with  the  soil  they  were  growing  upon. 
Others  are  obliterated  by  land-slips,  earthquake 
taluses,  etc.,  but  these  lake-deaths  compared  with 
those  resulting  from  the  deliberate  and  incessant 
deposition  of  sediments,  may  be  termed  accidental. 
Their  fate  is  like  that  of  trees  struck  by  lightning. 

The  lake-line  is  of  course  still  rising,  its  present 
elevation  being  about  8000  feet  above  sea-level; 
somewhat  higher  than  this  toward  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  range,  lower  toward  the  northern, 
on  account  of  the  difference  in  time  of  the  with- 
drawal of  the  glaciers,  due  to  difference  in  climate. 
Specimens  occur  here  and  there  considerably  below 
this  limit,  in  basins  specially  protected  from  in- 
washing  detritus,  or  exceptional  in  size.  These, 
however,  are  not  sufficiently  numerous  to  make 
any  marked  irregularity  in  the  line.  The  highest 
I  have  yet  found  lies  at  an  elevation  of  about 
12,000  feet,  in  a  glacier  womb,  at  the  foot  of  one 
of  the  highest  of  the  summit  peaks,  a  few  miles  to 
the  north  of  Mount  Ritter.  The  basins  of  perhaps 
twenty-five  or  thirty  are  still  in  process  of  forma- 
tion beneath  the  few  lingering  glaciers,  but  by  the 
time  they  are  born,  an  equal  or  greater  number  will 
pr<  >1  tably  have  died.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  close 
of  the  ice-period  the  whole  number  in  the  range  has 
perhaps  never  been  greater  than  at  present. 

A  rough  approximation  to  the  average  duration 


THE   GLACIER  LAKES  109 

of  these  mountain  lakes  may  be  made  frorn  data 
already  suggested,  but  I  cannot  stop  here  to  present 
the  subject  in  detail.  I  must  also  forego,  in  the 
mean  time,  the  pleasure  of  a  full  discussion  of  the 
interesting  question  of  lake-basin  formation,  for 
which  fine,  clear,  demonstrative  material  abounds 
in  these  mountains.  In  addition  to  what  has  been 
already  given  on  the  subject,  I  will  onty  make  this 
one  statement.  Every  lake  in  the  Sierra  is  a  glacier 
lake.  Their  basins  were  not  merely  remodeled  and 
scoured  out  by  this  mighty  agent,  but  in  the  first 
place  were  eroded  from  the  solid. 

I  must  now  make  haste  to  give  some  nearer  views 
of  representative  specimens  lying  at  different  eleva- 
tions on  the  main  lake-belt,  confining  myself  to  des- 
criptions of  the  features  most  characteristic  of  each. 


SHADOW  LAKE 

This  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  oldest  and  lowest 
of  the  existing  lakes.  It  lies  about  eight  miles  above 
Yosemite  Valley,  on  the  main  branch  of  the  Merced, 
at  an  elevation  of  about  7350  feet  above  the  sea ;  and 
is  everywhere  so  securely  cliff-bound  that  without 
artificial  trails  only  wild  animals  can  get  down  to 
its  rocky  shores  from  any  direction.  Its  original 
length  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half ;  now  it  is  only 
half  a  mile  in  length  by  about  a  fourth  of  a  mile 
in  width,  and  over  the  lowest  portion  of  the  basin 
ninety-eight  feet  deep.  Its  crystal  waters  are  clasped 
around  on  the  north  and  south  by  majestic  granite 
walls  sculp tured  in  true  Yosemitic  style  into  domes, 


110  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

gables,  and  battlemented  headlands,  which  on  the 
south  come  plunging  down  sheer  into  deep  water, 
from  a  height  of  from  1500  to  2000  feet.  The  South 
Lyell  glacier  eroded  this  magnificent  basin  out  of 
solid  porphyritic  granite  while  forcing  its  way  west- 
ward from  the  summit  fountains  toward  Yosemite, 
and  the  exposed  rocks  ground  the  shores,  and  the 
projecting  bosses  of  the  walls,  ground  and  burnished 
beneath  the  vast  ice-flood,  still  glow  with  silvery 
radiance,  notwithstanding  the  innumerable  corrod- 
ing storms  that  have  fallen  upon  them.  _The  gen- 
eral conformation  of  the  basin,  as  well  as  the  mo- 
raines laid  along  the  top  of  the  walls,  and  the 
grooves  and  scratches  on  the  bottom  and  sides, 
indicate  in  the  most  unmistakable  manner  the  di- 
rection pursued  by  this  mighty  ice-river,  its  great 
depth,  and  the  tremendous  energy  it  exerted  in 
thrusting  itself  into  and  out  of  the  basin ;  bearing 
down  with  superior  pressure  upon  this  portion  of 
its  channel,  because  of  the  greater  declivity,  con- 
sequently eroding  it  deeper  than  the  other  portions 
about  it,  and  producing  the  lake-bowl  as  the  neces- 
sary result. 

With  these  magnificent  ice-characters  so  vividly 
before  us  it  is  not  easy  to  realize  that  the  old  glacier 
that  made  them  vanished  tens  of  centuries  ago ;  for, 
excepting  the  vegetation  that  has  sprung  up,  and 
the  changes  effected  by  an  earthquake  that  hurled 
rock-avalanches  from  the  weaker  headlands,  the 
basin  as  a  whole  presents  the  same  appearance 
that  it  did  when  first  brought  to  light.  The  lake 
itself,  however,  has  undergone  marked  changes; 
one  sees  at  a  glance  that  it  is  growing  old.    More 


THE   GLACIER  LAKES  111 

than  two  thirds  of  its  original  area  is  now  dry  land, 
covered  with  meadow-grasses  and  groves  of  pine 
and  fir,  and  the  level  bed  of  alluvium  stretching 
across  from  wall  to  wall  at  the  head  is  evidently 
growing  out  all  along  its  lakeward  margin,  and  will 
at  length  close  the  lake  forever. 

Every  lover  of  fine  wildness  would  delight  to 
saunter  on  a  summer  day  through  the  flowery 
groves  now  occupying  the  filled-up  portion  of  the 
basin.  The  curving  shore  is  clearly  traced  by  a 
ribbon  of  white  sand  upon  which  the  ripples  play ; 
then  comes  a  belt  of  broad-leafed  sedges,  inter- 
rupted here  and  there  by  impenetrable  tangles  of 
willows ;  beyond  this  there  are  groves  of  trembling 
aspen;  then  a  dark,  shadowy  belt  of  Two-leaved 
Pine,  with  here  and  there  a  round  carex  meadow 
ensconced  nest-like  in  its  midst ;  and  lastly,  a  nar- 
row outer  margin  of  majestic  Silver  Fir  200  feet 
high.  The  ground  beneath  the  trees  is  covered 
with  a  luxuriant  crop  of  grasses,  chiefly  triticnm, 
bromns,  and  calamagrostis,  with  purple  spikes  and 
panicles  arching  to  one's  shoulders ;  while  the  open 
meadow  patches  glow  throughout  the  summer  with 
showy  flowers, — heleniums,  goldenrods,  erigerons, 
lupines,  castilleias,  and  lilies,  and  form  favorite  hid- 
ing- and  feeding-grounds  for  bears  and  deer. 

The  rugged  south  wall  is  feathered  darkly  along 
the  top  with  an  imposing  array  of  spirey  Silver  Firs, 
while  the  rifted  precipices  all  the  way  down  to  the 
water's  edge  are  adorned  with  picturesque  old  juni- 
pers, their  cinnamon-colored  bark  showing  finely 
upon  the  neutral  gray  of  the  granite.  These,  with 
a  few  A^enturasome  Dwarf  Pines  and  Spruces,  lean 


112  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

out  over  fissured  ribs  and  tablets,  or  stand  erect 
back  in  shadowy  niches,  in  an  indescribably  wild 
and  fearless  manner.  Moreover,  the  white-flowered 
Douglas  spiraea  and  dwarf  evergreen  oak  form  grace- 
ful fringes  along  the  narrower  seams,  wherever  the 
slightest  hold  can  be  effected.  Rock-ferns,  too,  are 
here,  such  as  allosorus,  pellsea,  and  cheilanthes,  mak- 
ing handsome  rosettes  on  the  drier  fissures ;  and  the 
delicate  maidenhair,  cistoperis,  and  woodsia  hide 
back  in  mossy  grottoes,  moistened  by  some  trick- 
ling rill ;  and  then  the  orange  wall-flower  holds  up 
its  showy  panicles  here  and  there  in  the  sunshine, 
and  bahia  makes  bosses  of  gold.  But,  notwith- 
standing all  this  plant  beauty,  the  general  impres- 
sion in  looking  across  the  lake  is  of  stern,  unflinch- 
ing rockiness;  the  ferns  and  flowers  are  scarcely 
seen,  and  not  one  fiftieth  of  the  whole  surface  is 
screened  with  plant  life. 

The  sunnier  north  wall  is  more  varied  in  sculp- 
ture, but  the  general  tone  is  the  same.  A  few  head- 
lands, flat-topped  and  soil-covered,  support  clumps 
of  cedar  and  pine  ;  and  up-curving  tangles  of  chin- 
quapin and  live-oak,  growing  on  rough  earthquake 
taluses,  girdle  their  bases.  Small  streams  come  cas- 
cading down  between  them,  their  foaming  margins 
brightened  with  gay  primulas,  gilias,  and  mimu- 
luses.  And  close  along  the  shore  on  this  side  there 
is  a  strip  of  rocky  meadow  enameled  with  butter- 
cups, daisies,  and  white  violets,  and  the  purple- 
topped  grasses  out  on  its  beveled  border  dip  their 
leaves  into  the  water. 

The  lower  edge  of  the  basin  is  a  dam-like  swell 
of  solid  granite,  heavily  abraded  by  the  old  glacier, 


THE   GLACIEE   LAKES  113 

but  scarce  at  all  cut  into  as  yet  by  the  outflowing 
stream,  though  it  has  flowed  on  unceasingly  since 
the  lake  came  into  existence. 

As  soon  as  the  stream  is  fairly  over  the  lake-lip 
it  breaks  into  cascades,  never  for  a  moment  halting, 
and  scarce  abating  one  jot  of  its  glad  energy,  until  it 
reaches  the  next  filled-up  basin,  a  mile  below.  Then 
swirling  and  curving  drowsily  through  meadow  and 
grove,  it  breaks  forth  anew  into  gray  rapids  and 
falls,  leaping  and  gliding  in  glorious  exuberance  of 
wild  bound  and  dance  down  into  another  and  yet 
another  filled-up  lake  basin.  Then,  after  a  long  rest 
in  the  levels  of  Little  Yosemite,  it  makes  its 
grandest  display  in  the  famous  Nevada  Fall.  Out 
of  the  clouds  of  spray  at  the  foot  of  the  fall  the  bat- 
tered, roaring  river  gropes  its  way,  makes  another 
mile  of  cascades  and  rapids,  rests  a  moment  in 
Emerald  Pool,  then  plunges  over  the  grand  cliff  of 
the  Vernal  Fall,  and  goes  thundering  and  chafing 
down  a  boulder-choked  gorge  of  tremendous  depth 
and  wildness  into  the  tranquil  reaches  of  the  old 
Yosemite  lake  basin. 

The  color-beauty  about  Shadow  Lake  during 
the  Indian  summer  is  much  richer  than  one  could 
hope  to  find  in  so  young  and  so  glacial  a  wilderness. 
Almost  every  leaf  is  tinted  then,  and  the  golden- 
rods  are  in  bloom;  but  most  of  the  color  is  given 
by  the  ripe  grasses,  willows,  and  aspens.  At  the 
foot  of  the  lake  you  stand  in  a  trembling  aspen 
grove,  every  leaf  painted  like  a  butterfly,  and  away 
to  right  and  left  round  the  shores  sweeps  a  curv- 
ing ribbon  of  meadow,  red  and  brown  dotted  with 
pale  yellow,  shading  off  here  and  there  into  hazy 


114  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

purple.  The  walls,  too,  are  dashed  with  bits  of 
bright  color  that  gleam  out  on  the  neutral  granite 
gray.  But  neither  the  walls,  nor  the  margin 
meadow,  nor  yet  the  gay,  fluttering  grove  in  which 
you  stand,  nor  the  lake  itself,  flashing  with  spangles, 
can  long  hold  your  attention;  for  at  the  head  of 
the  lake  there  is  a  gorgeous  mass  of  orange-yellow, 
belonging  to  the  main  aspen  belt  of  the  basin,  which 
seems  the  very  fountain  whence  all  the  color  below 
it  had  flowed,  and  here  your  eye  is  filled  and  fixed. 
This  glorious  mass  is  about  thirty  feet  high,  and  ex- 
tends across  the  basin  nearly  from  wall  to  wall. 
Rich  bosses  of  willow  flame  in  front  of  it,  and  from 
the  base  of  these  the  brown  meadow  comes  forward 
to  the  water's  edge,  the  whole  being  relieved  against 
the  unyielding  green  of  the  coniferse,  while  thick 
sun-gold  is  poured  over  all. 

During  these  blessed  color-days  no  cloud  darkens 
the  sky,  the  winds  are  gentle,  and  the  landscape 
rests,  hushed  everywhere,  and  indescribably  impres- 
sive. A  few  ducks  are  usually  seen  sailing  on  the 
lake,  apparently  more  for  pleasure  than  anything 
else,  and  the  ouzels  at  the  head  of  the  rapids  sing 
always ;  while  robins,  grosbeaks,  and  the  Douglas: 
squirrels  are  busy  in  the  groves,  making  delightful 
company,  and  intensifying  the  feeling  of  grateful 
sequestration  without  ruffling  the  deep,  hushed 
calm  and  peace. 

This  autumnal  mellowness  usually  lasts  until  the 
end  of  November.  Then  come  days  of  quite  another 
kind.  The  winter  clouds  grow,  and  bloom,  and  shed 
their  starry  crystals  on  every  leaf  and  rock,  and  all 
\he  colors  vanish  like  a  sunset.    The  deer  gather 


VERNAL   FALL,  YO.SEMITE   VALLEY. 


THE    GLACIER   LAKES  115 

and  hasten  down  their  well-known  trails,  fearful  of 
being  snow-bound.  Storm  succeeds  storm,  heap- 
ing snow  on  the  cliffs  and  meadows,  and  bending 
the  slender  pines  to  the  ground  in  wide  arches,  one 
over  the  other,  clustering  and  interlacing  like  lodged 
wheat.  Avalanches  rush  and  boom  from  the  shelv- 
ing heights,  piling  immense  heaps  upon  the  frozen 
lake,  and  all  the  summer  glory  is  buried  and  lost. 
Yet  in  the  midst  of  this  hearty  winter  the  sun  shines 
warm  at  times,  calling  the  Douglas  squirrel  to  frisk 
in  the  snowy  pines  and  seek  out  his  hidden  stores ; 
and  the  weather  is  never  so  severe  as  to  drive  away 
the  grouse  and  little  nut-hatches  and  chickadees. 

Toward  May,  the  lake  begins  to  open.  The  hot 
sun  sends  down  innumerable  streams  over  the  cliffs, 
streaking  them  round  and  round  with  foam.  The 
snow  slowly  vanishes,  and  the  meadows  show  tint- 
ings  of  green.  Then  spring  comes  on  apace ;  flow- 
ers and  flies  enrich  the  air  and  the  sod,  and  the 
deer  come  back  to  the  upper  groves  like  birds  to  an 
old  nest. 

I  first  discovered  this  charming  lake  in  the  au- 
tumn of  1872,  while  on  my  way  to  the  glaciers  at 
the  head  of  the  river.  It  was  rejoicing  then  in  its 
gayest  colors,  untrodden,  hidden  in  the  glorious 
wildness  like  unmined  gold.  Year  after  year  I 
walked  its  shores  without  discovering  any  other 
trace  of  humanity  than  the  remains  of  an  Indian 
camp-fire,  and  the  thigh-bones  of  a  deer  that  had 
been  broken  to  get  at  the  marrow.  It  lies  out  of  the 
regular  ways  of  Indians,  who  love  to  hunt  in  more 
accessible  fields  adjacent  to  trails.  Their  knowledge 
of  deer-haunts  had  probably  enticed  them  here  some 


116  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

hunger-time  when  they  wished  to  make  sure  of  a 
feast ;  for  hunting  in  this  lake-hollow  is  like  hunt- 
ing in  a  fenced  park.  I  had  told  the  beauty  of 
Shadow  Lake  only  to  a  few  friends,  fearing  it  might 
come  to  be  trampled  and  "  improved  "  like  Yosem- 
ite.  On  my  last  visit,  as  I  was  sauntering  along 
the  shore  on  the  strip  of  sand  between  the  water 
and  sod,  reading  the  tracks  of  the  wild  animals 
that  live  here,  I  was  startled  by  a  human  track, 
which  I  at  once  saw  belonged  to  some  shepherd; 
for  each  step  was  turned  out  35°  or  40°  from  the 
general  course  pursued,  and  was  also  run  over  in  an 
uncertain  sprawling  fashion  at  the  heel,  while  a  row 
of  round  dots  on  the  right  indicated  the  staff  that 
shepherds  carry.  None  but  a  shepherd  could  make 
such  a  track,  and  after  tracing  it  a  few  minutes  I 
began  to  fear  that  he  might  be  seeking  pasturage ; 
for  what  else  could  he  be  seeking  ?  Returning  from 
the  glaciers  shortly  afterward,  my  worst  fears  were 
realized.  A  trail  had  been  made  down  the  moun- 
tain-side from  the  north,  and  all  the  gardens  and 
meadows  were  destroyed  by  a  horde  of  hoofed  lo- 
custs, as  if  swept  by  a  fire.  The  money-changers 
were  in  the  temple. 


ORANGE   LAKE 

Besides  these  larger  canon  lakes,  fed  by  the  main 
canon  streams,  there  are  many  smaller  ones  lying 
aloft  on  the  top  of  rock  benches,  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  the  general  drainage  channels,  and  of 
course  drawing  their  supplies  from  a  very  limited 


THE  GLACIER   LAKES  117 

area.  Notwithstanding  they  are  mostly  small  and 
shallow,  owing  to  their  immunity  from  avalanche 
detritus  and  the  inwashings  of  powerful  streams, 
they  often  endure  longer  than  others  many  times 
larger  but  less  favorably  situated.  When  very  shal- 
low they  become  dry  toward  the  end  of  summer ; 
but  because  their  basins  are  ground  out  of  seamless 
stone  they  suffer  no  loss  save  from  evaporation 
alone;  and  the  great  depth  of  snow  that  falls,  lasting 
into  June,  makes  their  dry  season  short  in  any  case. 

Orange  Lake  is  a  fair  illustration  of  this  bench 
form.  It  lies  in  the  middle  of  a  beautiful  glacial 
pavement  near  the  lower  margin  of  the  lake-line, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  to  the  northwest  of  Shadow 
Lake.  It  is  only  about  100  yards  in  circumference. 
Next  the  water  there  is  a  girdle  of  carices  with 
wide  overarching  leaves,  then  in  regular  order  a 
shaggy  ruff  of  huckleberry  bushes,  a  zone  of  willows 
with  here  and  there  a  bush  of  the  Mountain  Ash, 
then  a  zone  of  aspens  with  a  few  pines  around  the 
outside.  These  zones  are  of  course  concentric,  and 
together  form  a  wall  beyond  which  the  naked  ice- 
burnished  granite  stretches  away  in  every  direction, 
leaving  it  conspicuously  relieved,  like  a  bunch  of 
palms  in  a  desert. 

In  autumn,  when  the  colors  are  ripe,  the  whole 
circular  grove,  at  a  little  distance,  looks  like  a  big 
handful  of  flowers  set  in  a  cup  to  be  kept  fresh — 
a  tuft  of  goldenrods.  Its  feeding-streams  are  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful,  notwithstanding  their  incon- 
stancy and  extreme  shallowness.  They  have  no 
channel  whatever,  and  consequently  are  left  free 
to  spread  in  thin  sheets  upon  the  shining  granite 


118  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  wander  at  will.  In  many  places  the  current  is 
less  than  a  fourth  of  an  inch  deep,  and  flows  with 
so  little  friction  it  is  scarcely  visible.  Sometimes 
there  is  not  a  single  foam-bell,  or  drifting  pine- 
needle,  or  irregularity  of  any  sort  to  manifest  its 
motion.  Yet  when  observed  narrowly  it  is  seen  to 
form  a  web  of  gliding  lacework  exquisitely  woven, 
giving  beautiful  reflections  from  its  minute  curv- 
ing ripples  and  eddies,  and  differing  from  the  water- 
laces  of  large  cascades  in  being  everywhere  trans- 
parent. In  spring,  when  the  snow  is  melting,  the 
lake-bowl  is  brimming  full,  and  sends  forth  quite  a 
large  stream  that  slips  glassily  for  200  yards  or  so, 
until  it  comes  to  an  almost  vertical  precipice  800 
feet  high,  down  which  it  plunges  in  a  fine  cataract ; 
then  it  gathers  its  scattered  waters  and  goes 
smoothly  over  folds  of  gently  dipping  granite  to  its 
confluence  with  the  main  canon  stream.  During 
the  greater  portion  of  the  year,  however,  not  a  single 
water  sound  will  you  hear  either  at  head  or  foot 
of  the  lake,  not  even  the  whispered  lappings  of 
ripple-waves  along  the  shore;  for  the  winds  are 
fenced  out.  But  the  deep  mountain  silence  is 
sweetened  now  and  then  by  birds  that  stop  here  to 
rest  and  drink  on  their  way  across  the  canon. 


LAKE   STARR   KING 

A  beautiful  variety  of  the  bench-top  lakes  occurs 
just  where  the  great  lateral  moraines  of  the  main 
glaciers  have  been  shoved  forward  in  outswelling 
concentric  rings  by  small  residual  tributary  glaciers. 


120  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

Instead  of  being  encompassed  by  a  narrow  ring  of 
trees  like  Orange  Lake,  these  lie  embosomed  in 
dense  moraine  woods,  so  dense  that  in  seeking  them 
yon  may  pass  them  by  again  and  again,  although 
you  may  know  nearly  where  they  lie  concealed. 

Lake  Starr  King,  lying  to  the  north  of  the  cone 
of  that  name,  above  the  Little  Yo  Semite  Valley,  is 
a  fine  specimen  of  this  variety.  The  ouzels  pass  it 
by,  and  so  do  the  ducks ;  they  could  hardly  get  into 
it  if  they  would,  without  plumping  straight  down 
inside  the  circling  trees. 

Yet  these  isolated  gems,  lying  like  fallen  fruit 
detached  from  the  branches,  are  not  altogether  with- 
out inhabitants  and  joyous,  animating  visitors.  Of 
course  fishes  cannot  get  into  them,  and  this  is  gen- 
erally true  of  nearly  every  glacier  lake  in  the  range, 
but  they  are  all  well  stocked  with  happy  frogs. 
How  did  the  frogs  get  into  them  in  the  first  place  ? 
Perhaps  their  sticky  spawn  was  carried  in  on  the 
feet  of  ducks  or  other  birds,  else  their  progenitors 
must  have  made  some  exciting  excursions  through 
the  woods  and  up  the  sides  of  the  canons.  Down  in 
the  still,  pure  depths  of  these  hidden  lakelets  you 
may  also  find  the  larvae  of  innumerable  insects  and 
a  great  variety  of  beetles,  while  the  air  above  them 
is  thick  with  humming  wings,  through  the  midst  of 
which  fly-catchers  are  constantly  darting.  And  in 
autumn,  when  the  huckleberries  are  ripe,  bands  of 
robins  and  grosbeaks  come  to  feast,  forming  alto- 
gether delightful  little  byworlds  for  the  naturalist. 

Pushing  our  way  upward  toward  the  axis  of  the 
range,  we  find  lakes  in  greater  and  greater  abun- 
dance, and  more  youthful  in  aspect.    At  an  eleva- 


THE   GLACIER  LAKES  121 

tion  of  about  9000  feet  above  sea-level  they  seem  to 
have  arrived  at  middle  age, —  that  is,  their  basins 
seem  to  be  about  half  filled  with  alluvium.  Broad 
sheets  of  meadow-land  are  seen  extending  into  them, 
imperfect  and  boggy  in  many  places  and  more 
nearly  level  than  those  of  the  older  lakes  below 
them,  and  the  vegetation  of  their  shores  is  of  course 
more  alpine.  Kalmia,  ledum,  and  cassiope  fringe 
the  meadow  rocks,  while  the  luxuriant,  waving 
groves,  so  characteristic  of  the  lower  lakes,  are  rep- 
resented only  by  clumps  of  the  Dwarf  Pine  and 
Hemlock  Spruce.  These,  however,  are  oftentimes 
very  picturesquely  grouped  on  rocky  headlands 
around  the  outer  rim  of  the  meadows,  or  with  still 
more  striking  effect  crown  some  rocky  islet. 

Moreover,  from  causes  that  we  cannot  stop  here 
to  explain,  the  cliffs  about  these  middle-aged  lakes 
are  seldom  of  the  massive  Yosemite  type,  but  are 
more  broken,  and  less  sheer,  and  they  usually  stand 
back,  leaving  the  shores  comparatively  free ;  while 
the  few  precipitous  rocks  that  do  come  forward  and 
plunge  directly  into  deep  water  are  seldom  more 
than  three  or  four  hundred  feet  high. 

I  have  never  yet  met  ducks  in  any  of  the  lakes 
of  this  kind,  but  the  ouzel  is  never  wanting  where 
the  feeding-streams  are  perennial.  Wild  sheep  and 
deer  may  occasionally  be  seen  on  the  meadows,  and 
very  rarely  a  bear.  One  might  camp  on  the  rugged 
shores  of  these  bright  fountains  for  weeks,  without 
meeting  any  animal  larger  than  the  marmots  that 
burrow  beneath  glacier  boulders  along  the  edges  of 
the  meadows. 

The  highest  and  youngest  of  all  the  lakes  lie 


122  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

nestled  in  glacier  wombs.  At  first  sight,  they  seem 
pictures  of  pure  bloodless  desolation,  miniature 
arctic  seas,  bound  in  perpetual  ice  and  snow,  and 
overshadowed  by  harsh,  gloomy,  crumbling  preci- 
pices. Their  waters  are  keen  ultramarine  blue  in 
the  deepest  parts,  lively  grass-green  toward  the  shore 
shallows  and  around  the  edges  of  the  small  bergs 
usually  floating  about  in  them.  A  few  hardy 
sedges,  frost-pinched  every  night,  are  occasionally 
found  making  soft  sods  along  the  sun-touched  por- 
tions of  their  shores,  and  when  their  northern  banks 
slope  openly  to  the  south,  and  are  soil-covered,  no 
matter  how  coarsely,  they  are  sure  to  be  brightened 
with  flowers.  One  lake  in  particular  now  comes  to 
mind  which  illustrates  the  floweriness  of  the  sun- 
touched  banks  of  these  icy  gems.  Close  up  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Sierra  Matterhorn,  on  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  range,  lies  one  of  the  iciest  of 
these  glacier  lakes  at  an  elevation  of  about  12,000 
feet.  A  short,  ragged-edged  glacier  crawls  into  it 
from  the  south,  and  on  the  opposite  side  it  is  em- 
banked and  dammed  by  a  series  of  concentric  ter- 
minal moraines,  made  by  the  glacier  when  it  en- 
tirely filled  the  basin.  Half  a  mile  below  lies  a 
second  lake,  at  a  height  of  11,500  feet,  about  as  cold 
and  as  pure  as  a  snow-crystal.  The  waters  of  the 
first  come  gurgling  down  into  it  over  and  through 
the  moraine  dam,  while  a  second  stream  pours  into 
it  direct  from  a  glacier  that  lies  to  the  southeast. 
Sheer  precipices  of  crystalline  snow  rise  out  of  deep 
water  on  the  south,  keeping  perpetual  winter  on  that 
side,  but  there  is  a  fine  summery  spot  on  the  other, 
notwithstanding  the  lake  is  only  about  300  yards 


THE  GLACIER  LAKES  123 

wide.  Here,  on  August  25, 1873, 1  found  a  charming 
company  of  flowers,  not  pinched,  crouching  dwarfs, 
scarce  able  to  look  up,  but  warm  and  juicy,  stand- 
ing erect  in  rich  cheery  color  and  bloom.  On  a 
narrow  strip  of  shingle,  close  to  the  water's  edge, 
there  were  a  few  tufts  of  carex  gone  to  seed;  and  a 
little  way  back  up  the  rocky  bank  at  the  foot  of  a 
crumbling  wall  so  inclined  as  to  absorb  and  radiate 
as  well  as  reflect  a  considerable  quantity  of  sun-heat, 
was  the  garden,  containing  a  thrifty  thicket  of 
Cowania  covered  with  large  yellow  flowers;  several 
bushes  of  the  alpine  ribes  with  berries  nearly  ripe 
and  wildly  acid ;  a  few  handsome  grasses  belonging 
to  two  distinct  species,  and  one  goldenrod;  a  few 
hairy  lupines  and  radiant  spragueas,  whose  blue  and 
rose-colored  flowers  were  set  off  to  fine  advantage 
amid  green  carices ;  and  along  a  narrow  seam  in  the 
very  warmest  angle  of  the  wall  a  perfectly  gorgeous 
fringe  of  Epiloh'mm  obcordatum  with  flowers  an  inch 
wide,  crowded  together  in  lavish  profusion,  and 
colored  as  royal  a  purple  as  ever  was  worn  by  any 
high-bred  plant  of  the  tropics ;  and  best  of  all,  and 
greatest  of  all,  a  noble  thistle  in  full  bloom,  stand- 
ing erect,  head  and  shoulders  above  his  companions, 
and  thrusting  out  his  lances  in  sturdy  vigor  as  if 
growing  on  a  Scottish  brae.  All  this  brave  warm 
bloom  among  the  raw  stones,  right  in  the  face  of 
the  onlooking  glaciers. 

As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  find  out,  these  upper 
lakes  are  snow-buried  in  winter  to  a  depth  of  about 
thirty-five  or  forty  feet,  and  those  most  exposed  to 
avalanches,  to  a  depth  of  even  a  hundred  feet  or 
more.    These  last  are,  of  course,  nearly  lost  to  the 


124  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

landscape.  Some  remain  buried  for  years,  when 
the  snowfall  is  exceptionally  great,  and  many  open 
only  on  one  side  late  in  the  season.  The  snow  of 
the  closed  side  is  composed  of  coarse  granules  com- 
pacted and  frozen  into  a  firm,  faintly  stratified  mass, 
like  the  neve  of  a  glacier.  The  lapping  waves  of 
the  open  portion  gradually  undermine  and  cause 
it  to  break  off  in  large  masses  like  icebergs,  which 
gives  rise  to  a  precipitous  front  like  the  discharging 
wall  of  a  glacier  entering  the  sea.  The  play  of  the 
lights  among  the  crystal  angles  of  these  snow-cliffs, 
the  pearly  white  of  the  outswelling  bosses,  the  bergs 
drifting  in  front,  aglow  in  the  sun  and  edged  with 
green  water,  and  the  deep  blue  disk  of  the  lake  itself 
extending  to  your  feet, — this  forms  a  picture  that 
enriches  all  your  afterlife,  and  is  never  forgotten. 
But  however  perfect  the  season  and  the  day,  the 
cold  incompleteness  of  these  young  lakes  is  always 
keenly  felt.  We  approach  them  with  a  kind  of 
mean  caution,  and  steal  unconfidingly  around  their 
crystal  shores,  dashed  and  ill  at  ease,  as  if  expect- 
ing to  hear  some  forbidding  voice.  But  the  love- 
songs  of  the  ouzels  and  the  love-looks  of  the  daisies 
gradually  reassure  us,  and  manifest  the  warm  foun- 
tain humanity  that  pervades  the  coldest  and  most 
solitary  of  them  all. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   GLACIER   MEADOWS 

AFTER  the  lakes  on  the  High  Sierra  come  the 
-Xa_  glacier  meadows.  They  are  smooth,  level, 
silky  lawns,  lying  embedded  in  the  upper  forests,  on 
the  floors  of  the  valleys,  and  along  the  broad  backs 
of  the  main  dividing  ridges,  at  a  height  of  about 
8000  to  9500  feet  above  the  sea. 

They  are  nearly  as  level  as  the  lakes  whose  places 
they  have  taken,  and  present  a  dry,  even  surface 
free  from  rock-heaps,  mossy  bogginess,  and  the 
frowsy  roughness  of  rank,  coarse-leaved,  weedy, 
and  shrubby  vegetation.  The  sod  is  close  and  fine, 
and  so  complete  that  you  cannot  see  the  ground;  and 
at  the  same  time  so  brightly  enameled  with  flowers 
and  butterflies  that  it  may  well  be  called  a  garden- 
meadow,  or  meadow-garden ;  for  the  plushy  sod  is 
in  many  places  so  crowded  with  gentians,  daisies, 
ivesias,  and  various  species  of  orthocarpus  that  the 
grass  is  scarcely  noticeable,  while  in  others  the 
flowers  are  only  pricked  in  here  and  there  singly,  or 
in  small  ornamental  rosettes. 

The  most  influential  of  the  grasses  composing 
the  sod  is  a  delicate  calamagrostis  with  fine  filiform 
leaves,  and  loose,  airy  panicles  that  seem  to  float 
above  the  flowery  lawn  like  a  purple  mist.     But, 


126  THE  MOUNTAINS   OP  CALIFORNIA 

write  as  I  may,  I  cannot  give  anything  like  an  ad- 
equate idea  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  these  moun- 
tain carpets  as  they  lie  smoothly  outspread  in  the 
savage  wilderness.  What  words  are  fine  enough 
to  picture  them  ?  to  what  shall  we  liken  them  !  The 
flowery  levels  of  the  prairies  of  the  old  West,  the 
luxuriant  savannahs  of  the  South,  and  the  finest 
of  cultivated  meadows  are  coarse  in  comparison. 
One  may  at  first  sight  compare  them  with  the  care- 
fully tended  lawns  of  pleasure-grounds;  for  they 
are  as  free  from  weeds  as  they,  and  as  smooth,  but 
here  the  likeness  ends ;  for  these  wild  lawns,  with 
all  their  exquisite  fineness,  have  no  trace  of  that 
painful,  licked,  snipped,  repressed  appearance  that 
pleasure-ground  lawns  are  apt  to  have  even  when 
viewed  at  a  distance.  And,  not  to  mention  the 
flowers  with  which  they  are  brightened,  their  grasses 
are  very  much  finer  both  in  color  and  texture,  and 
instead  of  lying  flat  and  motionless,  matted  to- 
gether like  a  dead  green  cloth,  they  respond  to  the 
touches  of  every  breeze,  rejoicing  in  pure  wildness, 
blooming  and  fruiting  in  the  vital  light. 

Glacier  meadows  abound  throughout  all  the  al- 
pine and  subalpine  regions  of  the  Sierra  in  still 
greater  numbers  than  the  lakes.  Probably  from 
2500  to  3000  exist  between  latitude  36°  30'  and  39°, 
distributed,  of  course,  like  the  lakes,  in  concordance 
with  all  the  other  glacial  features  of  the  landscape. 

On  the  head  waters  of  the  rivers  there  are  what 
are  called  "  Big  Meadows,"  usually  about  from  five 
to  ten  miles  long.  These  occupy  the  basins  of  the 
ancient  ice-seas,  where  many  tributary  glaciers  came 
together  to  form  the  grand  trunks.    Most,  however, 


THE   GLACIER   MEADOWS  127 

are  quite  small,  averaging  perhaps  but  little  more 
than  three  fourths  of  a  mile  in  length. 

One  of  the  very  finest  of  the  thousands  I  have  en- 
joyed lies  hidden  in  an  extensive  forest  of  the  Two- 
leaved  Pine,  on  the  edge  of  the  basin  of  the  ancient 
Tuolumne  Mer  de  Glace,  about  eight  miles  to  the 
west  of  Mount  Dana. 

Imagine  yourself  at  the  Tuolumne  Soda  Springs 
on  the  bank  of  the  river,  a  day's  journey  above 
Yosemite  Valleyc  You  set  off  northward  through  a 
forest  that  stretches  away  indefinitely  before  you, 
seemingly  unbroken  by  openings  of  any  kind.  As 
soon  as  you  are  fairly  into  the  woods,  the  gray 
mountain-peaks,  with  their  snowy  gorges  and  hol- 
lows, are  lost  to  view.  The  ground  is  littered  with 
fallen  trunks  that  lie  crossed  and  recrossed  like 
storm-lodged  wheat;  and  besides  this  close  forest 
of  pines,  the  rich  moraine  soil  supports  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  ribbon-leaved  grasses — bromus,  triticum, 
calamagrostis,  agrostis,  etc.,  which  rear  their  hand- 
gome  spikes  and  panicles  above  your  waist.  Mak  i  1 1  g 
your  way  through  the  fertile  wilderness, —  finding- 
lively  bits  of  interest  now  and  then  in  the  squirrels 
and  Clark  crows,  and  perchance  in  a  deer  or  bear, — 
after  the  lapse  of  an  hour  or  two  vertical  bars  of 
sunshine  are  seen  ahead  between  the  brown  shafts 
of  the  pines,  showing  that  you  are  approaching  an 
open  space,  and  then  you  suddenly  emerge  from 
the  forest  shadows  upon  a  delightful  purple  lawn 
lying  smooth  and  free  in  the  light  like  a  lake.  Tl lit- 
is a  glacier  meadow.  It  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
long  by  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide.  The  trees  come 
pressing  forward  all  around  in  close  serried  ranks, 


128  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

planting  their  feet  exactly  on  its  margin,  and  hold- 
ing themselves  erect,  strict  and  orderly  like  soldiers 
on  parade;  thus  bounding  the  meadow  with  ex- 
quisite precision,  yet  with  free  curving  lines  such 
as  Nature  alone  can  draw.  With  inexpressible  de- 
light you  wade  out  into  the  grassy  sun-lake,  feeling 
yourself  contained  in  one  of  Nature's  most  sacred 
chambers,  withdrawn  from  the  sterner  influences  oi 
the  mountains,  secure  from  all  intrusion,  secure 
from  yourself,  free  in  the  universal  beauty.  And 
notwithstanding  the  scene  is  so  impressively 
spiritual,  and  you  seem  dissolved  in  it,  yet  every- 
thing about  you  is  beating  with  warm,  terrestrial, 
human  love  and  life  delightfully  substantial  and 
familiar.  The  resiuy  pines  are  types  of  health  and 
steadfastness ;  the  robins  feeding  on  the  sod  belong- 
to  the  same  species  you  have  known  since  child- 
hood; and  surely  these  daisies,  larkspurs,  and 
goldenrods  are  the  very  friend-flowers  of  the  old 
home  garden.  Bees  hum  as  in  a  harvest  noon,  but- 
terflies waver  above  the  flowers,  and  like  them  you 
iave  in  the  vital  sunshine,  too  richly  and  homo- 
geneously joy-filled  to  be  capable  of  partial  thought. 
You  are  all  eye,  sifted  through  and  through  with 
light  and  beauty.  Sauntering  along  the  brook  that 
meanders  silently  through  the  meadow  from  the 
east,  special  flowers  call  you  back  to  discriminating 
consciousness.  The  sod  comes  curving  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  forming  bossy  outswelling  banks,  and 
in  some  places  overlapping  countersunk  boulders 
and  forming  bridges.  Here  you  find  mats  of  the 
curious  dwarf  willow  scarce  an  inch  high,  yet  send- 
ing up  a  multitude  of  gray  silky  catkins,  illumined 


THE   GLACIER  MEADOWS  129 

here  and  there  with  the  purple  cups  and  bells  of 
bryanthus  and  vaccinium. 

Go  where  you  may,  you  everywhere  find  the  lawn 
divinely  beautiful,  as  if  Nature  had  fingered  and 
adjusted  every  plant  this  very  day.  The  floating 
grass  panicles  are  scarcely  felt  in  brushing  through 
their  midst,  so  fine  are  they,  and  none  of  the  flowers 
have  tall  or  rigid  stalks.  In  the  brightest  places 
you  find  three  species  of  gentians  with  different 
shades  of  blue,  daisies  pure  as  the  sky,  silky  leaved 
ivesias  with  warm  yellow  flowers,  several  species  of 
orthocarpus  with  blunt,  bossy  spikes,  red  and  pur]  >le 
and  yellow ;  the  alpine  goldenrod,  pentstemon,  and 
clover,  fragrant  and  honey ful,  with  their  colors 
massed  and  blended.  Parting  the  grasses  and  look- 
ing more  closely  you  may  trace  the  branching  of 
their  shining  stems,  and  note  the  marvelous  beauty 
of  their  mist  of  flowers,  the  glumes  and  pales  ex- 
quisitely penciled,  the  yellow  dangling  stamens, 
and  feathery  pistils.  Beneath  the  lowest  ]  eaves  you 
discover  a  fairy  realm  of  mosses, —  hypnum,  dicra- 
num,  polytriehum,  and  many  others, — their  pre- 
cious spore-cups  poised  daintily  on  polished  shafts, 
curiously  hooded,  or  open,  showing  the  richly  ornate 
peristomas  worn  like  royal  crowns.  Creeping  liver- 
worts are  here  also  in  abundance,  and  several  rare 
species  of  fungi,  exceedingly  small,  and  frail,  and 
delicate,  as  if  made  only  for  beauty.  Caterpillars, 
black  beetles,  and  ants  roam  the  wilds  of  this  lower 
world,  making  their  way  through  miniature  groves 
and  thickets  like  bears  in  a  thick  wood. 

And  how  rich,  too,  is  the  life  of  the  sunny  air ! 
Every  leaf  and  flower  seems  to  have  its  winged 


130  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFORNIA 

representative  overhead.  Dragon-flies  shoot  in  vig- 
orous zigzags  through  the  dancing  swarms,  and  a 
rich  profusion  of  butterflies  —  the  leguminosse  of  in- 
sects—  make  a  fine  addition  to  the  general  show. 
Many  of  these  last  are  comparatively  small  at  this 
elevation,  and  as  yet  almost  unknown  to  science; 
but  every  now  and  then  a  familiar  vanessa  or  papilio 
comes  sailing  past.  Humming-birds,  too,  are  quite 
common  here,  and  the  robin  is  always  found  along 
the  margin  of  the  stream,  or  out  in  the  shallowest 
portions  of  the  sod,  and  sometimes  the  grouse  and 
mountain  quail,  with  their  broods  of  precious  fluffy 
chickens.  Swallows  skim  the  grassy  lake  from  end 
to  end,  fly-catchers  come  and  go  in  fitful  flights 
from  the  tops  of  dead  spars,  while  woodpeckers 
swing  across  from  side  to  side  in  graceful  festoon 
curves, —  birds,  insects,  and  flowers  all  in  their  own 
way  telling  a  deep  summer  joy. 

The  influences  of  pure  nature  seem  to  be  so  little 
known  as  yet,  that  it  is  generally  supposed  that 
complete  pleasure  of  this  kind,  permeating  one's  very 
flesh  and  bones,  unfits  the  student  for  scientific 
pursuits  in  which  cool  judgment  and  observation 
are  required.  But  the  effect  is  just  the  opposite. 
Instead  of  producing  a  dissipated  condition,  the 
mind  is  fertilized  and  stimulated  and  developed  like 
sun-fed  plants.  All  that  we  have  seen  here  enables 
us  to  see  with  surer  vision  the  fountains  among  the 
summit-peaks  to  the  east  whence  flowed  the  glaciers 
that  ground  soil  for  the  surrounding  forest;  and 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  meadow  the  moraine  which 
formed  the  dam  which  gave  rise  to  the  lake  that 
occupied  this  basin  before  the  meadow  was  made; 


THE   GLACIER  MEADOWS  131 

and  around  the  margin  the  stones  that  were  shoved 
back  and  piled  up  into  a  rude  wall  by  the  expan- 
sion of  the  lake  ice  during  long  bygone  winters; 
and  along  the  sides  of  the  streams  the  slight  hollows 
of  the  meadow  which  mark  those  portions  of  the  old 
lake  that  were  the  last  to  vanish. 

I  would  fain  ask  my  readers  to  linger  awhile  in 
this  fertile  wilderness,  to  trace  its  history  from  its 
earliest  glacial  beginnings,  and  learn  what  we  may 
of  its  wild  inhabitants  and  visitors.  How  happy 
the  birds  are  all  summer  and  some  of  them  all 
winter;  how  the  pouched  marmots  drive  tunnels 
under  the  snow,  and  how  fine  and  brave  a  life  the 
slandered  coyote  lives  here,  and  the  deer  and  bears ! 
But,  knowing  well  the  difference  between  reading 
and  seeing,  I  will  only  ask  attention  to  some  brief 
sketches  of  its  varying  aspects  as  they  are  pre- 
sented throughout  the  more  marked  seasons  of  the 
year. 

The  summer  life  we  have  been  depicting  lasts 
with  but  little  abatement  until  October,  when  the 
night  frosts  begin  to  sting,  bronzing  the  grasses, 
and  ripening  the  leaves  of  the  creeping  heathworts 
along  the  banks  of  the  stream  to  reddish  purple  and 
crimson ;  while  the  flowers  disappear,  all  save  the 
goldenrods  and  a  few  daisies,  that  continue  to  bloom 
on  unscathed  until  the  beginning  of  snowy  winter. 
In  still  nights  the  grass  panicles  and  every  leaf  and 
stalk  are  laden  with  frost  crystals,  through  which 
the  morning  sunbeams  sift  in  ravishing  splendor, 
transforming  each  to  a  precious  diamond  radiating 
the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  The  brook  shallows  are 
plaited  across  and  across  with  slender  lances  of  ice, 


132  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

but  both  these  and  the  grass  crystals  are  melted  be- 
fore midday,  and,  notwithstanding  the  great  eleva- 
tion of  the  meadow,  the  afternoons  are  still  warm 
enough  to  revive  the  chilled  butterflies  and  call 
them  out  to  enjoy  the  late-flowering  goldenrods. 
The  divine  alpenglow  flushes  the  surrounding  forest 
every  evening,  followed  by  a  crystal  night  with  hosts 
of  lily  stars,  whose  size  and  brilliancy  cannot  be  con- 
ceived by  those  who  have  never  risen  above  the 
lowlands. 

Thus  come  and  go  the  bright  sun-days  of  autumn, 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  week  after  week  until  near 
December.  Then  comes  a  sudden  change.  Clouds 
of  a  peculiar  aspect  with  a  slow,  crawling  gait  gather 
and  grow  in  the  azure,  throwing  out  satiny  fringes, 
and  becoming  gradually  darker  until  every  lake-like 
rift  and  opening  is  closed  and  the  whole  bent  fir- 
mament is  obscured  in  equal  structureless  gloom. 
Then  conies  the  snow,  for  the  clouds  are  ripe,  the 
meadows  of  the  sky  are  in  bloom,  and  shed  their 
radiant  blossoms  like  an  orchard  in  the  spring. 
Lightly,  lightly  they  lodge  in  the  brown  grasses 
and  in  the  tasseled  neeOles  of  the  pines,  falling  hour 
after  hour,  day  after  day,  silently,  lovingly, —  all 
the  winds  hushed, —  glancing  and  circling  hither, 
thither,  glinting  against  one  another,  rays  interlock- 
ing in  flakes  as  large  as  daisies ;  and  then  the  dry 
grasses,  and  the  trees,  and  the  stones  are  all  equally 
abloom  again.  Thunder-showers  occur  here  during 
the  summer  months,  and  impressive  it  is  to  watch 
the  coming  of  the  big  transparent  drops,  each  a 
small  world  in  itself, — one  unbroken  ocean  without 
islands  hurling  free  through  the  air  like  planets 


THE   GLACIER  MEADOWS  133 

through  space.  But  still  more  impressive  to  me  is 
the  coming  of  the  snow-flowers, —  falling  stars,  win- 
ter daisies, —  giving  bloom  to  all  the  ground  alike. 
Raindrops  blossom  brilliantly  in  the  rainbow,  and 
change  to  flowers  in  the  sod,  but  snow  comes  in  full 
flower  direct  from  the  dark,  frozen  sky. 

The  later  snow-storms  are  oftentimes  accom- 
panied by  winds  that  break  up  the  crystals,  when 
the  temperature  is  low,  into  single  petals  and  irreg- 
ular dusty  fragments ;  but  there  is  comparatively 
little  drifting  on  the  meadow,  so  securely  is  it  em- 
bosomed in  the  woods.  From  December  to  May, 
storm  succeeds  storm,  until  the  snow  is  about  fif- 
teen or  twenty  feet  deep,  but  the  surface  is  always 
as  smooth  as  the  breast  of  a  bird. 

Hushed  now  is  the  life  that  so  late  was  beating 
warmly.  Most  of  the  birds  have  gone  down  below 
the  snow-line,  the  plants  sleep,  and  all  the  fly-wings 
are  folded.  Yet  the  sun  beams  gloriously  many  a 
cloudless  day  in  midwinter,  casting  long  lance  shad- 
ows athwart  the  dazzling  expanse.  In  June  small 
flecks  of  the  dead,  decaying  sod  begin  to  appear, 
gradually  widening  and  uniting  with  one  another, 
covered  with  creeping  rags  of  water  during  the  day, 
and  ice  by  night,  looking  as  hopeless  and  uuvital  as 
crushed  rocks  just  emerging  from  the  darkness  of 
the  glacial  period.  Walk  the  meadow  now !  Scarce 
the  memory  of  a  flower  will  you  find.  The  ground 
seems  twice  dead.  Nevertheless,  the  annual  resur- 
rection is  drawing  near.  The  life-giving  sun  pours 
his  floods,  the  last  snow-wreath  melts,  myriads  of 
growing  points  push  eagerly  through  the  steaming 
mold,  tiie  birds  come  back,  new  wings  fill  the  air, 


134  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  fervid  summer  life  comes  surging  on,  seemingly 
yet  more  glorious  than  before. 

This  is  a  perfect  meadow,  and  under  favorable 
circumstances  exists  without  manifesting  any 
marked  changes  for  centuries.  Nevertheless,  soon 
or  late  it  must  inevitably  grow  old  and  vanish. 
During  the  calm  Indian  summer,  scarce  a  sand-grain 
moves  around  its  banks,  but  in  flood-times  and 
storm-times,  soil  is  washed  forward  upon  it  and  laid 
in  successive  sheets  around  its  gently  sloping  rim, 
and  is  gradually  extended  to  the  center,  making  it 
dryer.  Through  a  considerable  period  the  meadow 
vegetation  is  not  greatly  affected  thereby,  for  it 
gradually  rises  with  the  rising  ground,  keeping  on 
the  surface  like  water-plants  rising  on  the  swell  of 
waves.  But  at  length  the  elevation  of  the  meadow- 
land  goes  on  so  far  as  to  produce  too  dry  a  soil  for 
the  specific  meadow-plants,  when,  of  course,  they 
have  to  give  up  their  places  to  others  fitted  for  the 
new  conditions.  The  most  characteristic  of  the  new- 
comers at  this  elevation  above  the  sea  are  prin- 
cipally sun-loving  gilias,  eriogonas,  and  composite, 
and  finally  forest-trees.  Henceforward  the  obscur- 
ing changes  are  so  manifold  that  the  original  lake- 
meadow  can  be  unveiled  and  seen  only  by  the 
geologist. 

Generally  speaking,  glacier  lakes  vanish  more 
slowly  than  the  meadows  that  succeed  them,  be- 
cause, unless  very  shallow,  a  greater  quantity  of  ma- 
terial is  required  to  fill  up  their  basins  and  obliterate 
them  than  is  required  to  render  the  surface  of  the 
meadow  too  high  and  dry  for  meadow  vegetation. 


THE   GLACIER  MEADOWS  135 

Furthermore,  owing  to  the  weathering  to  which  the 
adjacent  rocks  are  subjected,  material  of  the  finer 
sort,  susceptible  of  transportation  by  rains  and  or- 
dinary floods,  is  more  abundant  during  the  meadow 
period  than  during  the  lake  period.  Yet  doubtless 
many  a  fine  meadow  favorably  situated  exists  in  al- 
most prime  beauty  for  thousands  of  years,  the  pro- 
cess of  extinction  being  exceedingly  slow,  as  we 
reckon  time.  This  is  especially  the  case  with  mea- 
dows circumstanced  like  the  one  we  have  described 
—  embosomed  in  deep  woods,  with  the  ground  ris- 
ing gently  away  from  it  all  around,  the  network  of 
tree-roots  in  which  all  the  ground  is  clasped  pre- 
venting any  rapid  torrential  washing.  But,  in  ex- 
ceptional cases,  beautiful  lawns  formed  with  great 
deliberation  are  overwhelmed  and  obliterated  at 
once  by  the  action  of  land-slips,  earthquake  ava- 
lanches, or  extraordinary  floods,  just  as  lakes  are. 
In  those  glacier  meadows  that  take  the  places  of 
shallow  lakes  which  have  been  fed  by  feeble  strea  ms, 
glacier  mud  and  fine  vegetable  humus  enter  largely 
into  the  composition  of  the  soil;  and  on  account  of 
the  shallowness  of  this  soil,  and  the  seamless,  water- 
tight, undrained  condition  of  the  rock-basins,  they 
are  usually  wet,  and  therefore  occupied  by  tall 
grasses  and  sedges,  whose  coarse  appearance  offers 
a  striking  contrast  to  that  of  the  delicate  lawn-mak- 
ing kind  described  above.  These  shallow-soiled 
meadows  are  oftentimes  still  further  roughened  and 
diversified  by  partially  buried  moraines  and  swell- 
ing bosses  of  the  bed-rock,  which,  with  the  trees  and 
shrubs  growing  upon  them,  produce  a  striking  effect 


136  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

as  they  stand  in  relief  like  islands  in  the  grassy 
level,  or  sweep  across  in  rugged  curves  from  one 
forest  wall  to  the  other. 

Throughout  the  upper  meadow  region,  wherever 
water  is  sufficiently  abundant  and  low  in  tempera- 
ture, in  basins  secure  from  flood-washing,  handsome 
bogs  are  formed  with  a  deep  growth  of  brown  and 
yellow  sphagnum  picturesquely  ruffled  with  patches 
of  kalmia  and  ledum  which  ripen  masses  of  beau- 
tiful color  in  the  autumn.  Between  these  cool, 
spongy  bogs  and  the  dry,  flowery  meadows  there 
are  many  interesting  varieties  which  are  graduated 
into  one  another  by  the  varied  conditions  already 
alluded  to,  forming  a  series  of  delightful  studies. 


HANGING   MEADOWS 

Another  very  well-marked  and  interesting  kind 
of  meadow,  differing  greatly  both  in  origin  and  ap- 
pearance from  the  lake-meadows,  is  found  lying 
aslant  upon  moraine-covered  hillsides  trending  in 
the  direction  of  greatest  declivity,  waving  up  and 
'low u  over  rock  heaps  and  ledges,  like  rich  green 
ribbons  brilliantly  illumined  with  tall  flowers. 
They  occur  both  in  the  alpine  and  subalpine  re- 
gions in  considerable  numbers,  and  never  fail  to 
make  telling  features  in  the  landscape.  They  are 
often  a  mile  or  more  in  length,  but  never  very  wide 
—usually  from  thirty  to  fifty  yards.  When  the 
mountain  or  canon  side  on  which  they  lie  dips  at 
the  required  angle,  and  other  conditions  are  at  the 
same  time  favorable,  they  extend  from  above  the 


THE    GLACIER   MEADOWS  137 

timber  line  to  the  bottom  of  a  canon  or  lake  basin, 
descending  in  fine,  fluent  lines  like  cascades,  break- 
ing here  and  there  into  a  kind  of  spray  on  large 
boulders,  or  dividing  and  flowing  around  on  either 
side  of  some  projecting  islet.  Sometimes  a  noisy 
stream  goes  brawling  down  through  them,  and 
again,  scarcely  a  drop  of  water  is  in  sight.  They 
owe  their  existence,  however,  to  streams,  whether 
visible  or  invisible,  the  wildest  specimens  being 
found  where  some  perennial  fountain,  as  a  glacier  or 
snowbank  or  moraine  spring  sends  down  its  waters 
across  a  rough  sheet  of  soil  in  a  dissipated  web 
of  feeble,  oozing  rivulets.  These  conditions  give 
rise  to  a  meadowy  vegetation,  whose  extending  roots 
still  more  obstruct  the  free  flow  of  the  waters,  and 
tend  to  dissipate  them  out  over  a  yet  wider  area. 
Thus  the  moraine  soil  and  the  necessary  moisture 
requisite  for  the  better  class  of  meadow  plants  are 
at  times  combined  about  as  perfectly  as  if  smoothly 
outspread  on  a  level  surface.  Where  the  soil  hap- 
pens to  be  composed  of  the  finer  qualities  of  glacial 
detritus  and  the  water  is  not  in  excess,  the  nearest 
approach  is  made  by  the  vegetation  to  that  of  the 
lake-meadow.  But  where,  as  is  more  commonly  the 
case,  the  soil  is  coarse  and  bouldery,  the  vegetation 
is  correspondingly  rank.  Tall,  wide-leaved  grasses 
take  their  places  along  the  sides,  and  rushes  and 
nodding  carices  in  the  wetter  portions,  mingled 
with  the  most  beautiful  and  imposing  flowers, — 
orange  lilies  and  larkspurs  seven  or  eight  feet  high, 
lupines,  senecios,  aliums,  painted-cups,  many  species 
of  mimulus  and  pentstemon,  the  ample  boat-leaved 
veratrum  alba,  and  the  magnificent  alpine  columbine, 


138  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

with  spurs  an  inch  and  a  half  long.  At  an  eleva- 
tion of  from  seven  to  nine  thousand  feet  showy 
flowers  frequently  form  the  bulk  of  the  vegetation ; 
then  the  hanging  meadows  become  hanging  gardens. 

In  rare  instances  we  find  an  alpine  basin  the  bot- 
tom of  which  is  a  perfect  meadow,  and  the  sides 
nearly  all  the  way  round,  rising  in  gentle  curves,  are 
covered  with  moraine  soil,  which,  being  saturated 
with  melting  snow  from  encircling  fountains,  give? 
rise  to  an  almost  continuous  girdle  of  down-curving 
meadow  vegetation  that  blends  gracefully  into  the 
level  meadow  at  the  bottom,  thus  forming  a  grand, 
smooth,  soft,  meadow-lined  mountain  nest.  It  is  in 
meadows  of  this  sort  that  the  mountain  beaver 
(Haplodon)  loves  to  make  his  home,  excavating  snug 
chambers  beneath  the  sod,  digging  canals,  turning 
the  underground  waters  from  channel  to  channel  to 
suit  his  convenience,  and  feeding  the  vegetation. 

Another  kind  of  meadow  or  bog  occurs  on  dense- 
ly timbered  hillsides  where  small  perennial  streams 
have  been  dammed  at  short  intervals  by  fallen  trees. 
Still  another  kind  is  found  hanging  down  smooth, 
flat  precipices,  while  corresponding  leaning  mea- 
dows rise  to  meet  them. 

There  are  also  three  kinds  of  small  pot-hole  mea- 
dows one  of  which  is  found  along  the  banks  of  the 
main  streams,  another  on  the  summits  of  rocky 
ridges,  and  the  third  on  glacier  pavements,  all  of 
them  interesting  in  origin  and  brimful  of  plant 
beauty. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE   FORESTS 


THE  coniferous  forests  of  the  Sierra  are  the 
grandest  and  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  and 
grow  in  a  delightful  climate  on  the  most  interest- 
ing and  accessible  of  mountain-ranges,  yet  strange 
to  say  they  are  not  well  known.  More  than  sixty 
years  ago  David  Douglas,  an  enthusiastic  botanist 
and  tree  lover,  wandered  alone  through  fine  sections 
of  the  Sugar  Pine  and  Silver  Fir  woods  wild  with 
delight.  A  few  years  later,  other  botanists  made 
short  journeys  from  the  coast  into  the  lower  woods. 
Then  came  the  wonderful  multitude  of  miners  into 
the  foot-hill  zone,  mostly  blind  with  gold-dust,  soon 
followed  by  "  sheepmen,"  who,  with  wool  over  their 
eyes,  chased  their  flocks  through  all  the  forest  belts 
from  one  end  of  the  range  to  the  other.  Then  the 
Yosemite  Valley  was  discovered,  and  thousands  of 
admiring  tourists  passed  through  sections  of  the 
lower  and  middle  zones  on  their  way  to  that  won- 
derful park,  and  gained  fine  glimpses  of  the  Sugar 
Pines  and  Silver  Firs  along  the  edges  of  dusty  trails 
and  roads.  But  few  indeed,  strong  and  free  with 
eyes  undimmed  with  care,  have  gone  far  enough 
and  lived  long  enough  with  the  trees  to  gain  any- 
thing like  a  loving  conception  of  their  grandeur  and 


140  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

significance  «fi,s  manifested  in  the  harmonies  of  their 
distribution  and  varying  aspects  throughout  the 
seasons,  as  they  stand  arrayed  in  their  winter  garb 
rejoicing  in  storms,  putting  forth  their  fresh  leaves 
in  the  spring  while  steaming  with  resiny  fragrance, 
receiving  the  thunder-showers  of  summer,  or  repos- 
ing heavy-laden  with  ripe  cones  in  the  rich  sungold 
of  autumn.  For  knowledge  of  this  kind  one  must 
dwell  with  the  trees  and  grow  with  them,  without 
any  reference  to  time  in  the  almanac  sense. 

The  distribution  of  the  general  forest  in  belts  is 
readily  perceived.  These,  as  we  have  seen,  extend 
in  regular  order  from  one  extremity  of  the  range  to 
the  other ;  and  however  dense  and  somber  they  may 
appear  in  general  views,  neither  on  the  rocky 
heights  nor  down  in  the  leafiest  hollows  will  you 
find  anything  to  remind  you  of  the  dank,  malarial 
selvas  of  the  Amazon  and  Orinoco,  with  their 
"boundless  contiguity  of  shade,"  the  monotonous 
uniformity  of  the  Deodar  forests  of  the  Himalaya, 
the  Black  Forest  of  Europe,  or  the  dense  dark  woods 
of  Douglas  Spruce  where  rolls  the  Oregon.  The 
giant  pines,  and  firs,  and  Sequoias  hold  their  arms 
open  to  the  sunlight,  rising  above  one  another  on 
the  mountain  benches,  marshaled  in  glorious  array, 
giving  forth  the  utmost  expression  of  grandeur  and 
beauty  with  inexhaustible  variety  and  harmony. 

The  inviting  openness  of  the  Sierra  woods  is  one 
of  their  most  distinguishing  characteristics.  The 
trees  of  all  the  species  stand  more  or  less  apart  in 
groves,  or  in  small,  irregular  groups,  enabling  one  to 
find  a  way  nearly  everywhere,  along  sunny  colon- 
nades and  through  openings  that  have  a  smooth, 


VIEW    IN    THE    SIERRA    FOREST, 


142  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

park-like  surface,  strewn  with  brown  needles  and 
burs.  Now  you  cross  a  wild  garden,  now  a  meadow, 
now  a  ferny,  willowy  stream;  and  ever  and  anon 
you  emerge  from  all  the  groves  and  flowers  upon 
some  granite  pavement  or  high,  bare  ridge  com- 
manding superb  views  above  the  waving  sea  of 
evergreens  far  and  near. 

One  would  experience  but  little  difficulty  in  riding 
on  horseback  through  the  successive  belts  all  the 
way  up  to  the  storm-beaten  fringes  of  the  icy  peaks. 
The  deep  canons,  however,  that  extend  from  the 
axis  of  the  range,  cut  the  belts  more  or  less  com- 
pletely into  sections,  and  prevent  the  mounted  trav- 
eler from  tracing  them  lengthwise. 

This  simple  arrangement  in  zones  and  sections 
brings  the  forest,  as  a  whole,  within  the  comprehen- 
sion of  every  observer.  The  different  species  are 
ever  found  occupying  the  same  relative  positions 
to  one  another,  as  controlled  by  soil,  climate,  and 
the  comparative  vigor  of  each  species  in  taking 
and  holding  the  ground;  and  so  appreciable  are 
these  relations,  one  need  never  be  at  a  loss  in  de- 
termining, within  a  few  hundred  feet,  the  elevation 
above  sea-level  by  the  trees  alone;  for,  notwith- 
standing some  of  the  species  range  upward  for  sev- 
eral thousand  feet,  and  all  pass  one  another  more 
or  less,  yet  even  those  possessing  the  greatest  verti- 
cal range  are  available  in  this  connection,  in  as  much 
as  they  take  on  new  forms  corresponding  with  the 
variations  in  altitude. 

Crossing  the  treeless  plains  of  the  Sacramento 
and  San  Joaquin  from  the  west  and  reaching  the 
Sierra  foot-hills,  you  enter  the  lower  fringe  of  the 


THE   FORESTS 


143 


forest,  composed  of  small  oaks  and  pines,  growing 
so  far  apart  that  not  one  twentieth  of  the  surface  of 
the  ground  is  in  shade  at  clear  noonday.  After  ad- 
vancing fifteen  or  twenty  miles,  and  making  an  as- 
cent of  from  two  to  three  thousand  feet,  you  reach 


EDGE    OF    THE    TIMBER    LINE    ON    MOUNT    SHASTA. 

the  lower  margin  of  the  main  pine  belt,  composed 
of  the  gigantic  Sugar  Pine,  Yellow  Pine,  Incense 
Cedar,  and  Sequoia.  Next  you  come  to  the  magnifi- 
cent Silver  Fir  belt,  and  lastly  to  the  upper  pine 
belt,  which  sweeps  up  the  rocky  acclivities  of  the 
summit  peaks  in  a  dwarfed,  wavering  fringe  to  a 
height  of  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand  feet. 


144  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

This  general  order  of  distribution,  with  reference 
to  climate  dependent  on  elevation,  is  perceived  at 
once,  but  there  are  other  harmonies,  as  far-reaching 
in  this  connection,  that  become  manifest  only  after 
patient  observation  and  study.  Perhaps  the  most 
interesting  of  these  is  the  arrangement  of  the  forests 
in  long,  curving  bands,  braided  together  into  lace- 
like patterns,  and  outspread  in  charming  variety. 
The  key  to  this  beautiful  harmony  is  the  ancient  gla- 
ciers ;  where  they  flowed  the  trees  followed,  tracing 
their  wavering  courses  along  canons,  over  ridges, 
and  over  high,  rolling  plateaus.  The  Cedars  of  Leb- 
anon, says  Hooker,  are  growing  upon  one  of  the 
moraines  of  an  ancient  glacier.  All  the  forests  of 
the  Sierra  are  growing  upon  moraines.  But  mo- 
raines vanish  like  the  glaciers  that  make  them. 
Every  storm  that  falls  upon  them  wastes  them,  cut- 
ting gaps,  disintegrating  boulders,  and  carrying 
away  their  decaying  material  into  new  formations, 
until  at  length  they  are  no  longer  recognizable  by 
any  save  students,  who  trace  their  transitional  forms 
down  from  the  fresh  moraines  still  in  process  of  for- 
mation, through  those  that  are  more  and  more  an- 
cient, and  more  and  more  obscured  by  vegetation 
and  all  kinds  of  post-glacial  weathering. 

Had  the  ice-sheet  that  once  covered  all  the  range 
been  melted  simultaneously  from  the  foot-hills  to 
the  summits,  the  flanks  would,  of  course,  have  been 
left  almost  bare  of  soil,  and  these  noble  forests 
would  be  wanting.  Many  groves  and  thickets  would 
undoubtedly  have  grown  up  on  lake  and  avalanche 
beds,  and  many  a  fair  flower  and  shrub  would  have 
found  food  and  a  dwelling-place  in  weathered  nooks 


THE   FORESTS 


145 


and  crevices,  but  the  Sierra  as  a  whole  would  have 
been  a  bare,  rocky  desert. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  Sierra  forests  in 
general  indicate  the  extent  and  positions  of  the  an- 


cient moraines  as  well  as  they  do  lines  of  climate. 
For  forests,  properly  speaking,  cannot  exist  without 
soil;  and,  since  the  moraines  have  been  deposited 
upon  the  solid  rock,  and  only  upon  elected  places, 


146  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

leaving  a  considerable  portion  of  the  old  glacial 
surface  bare,  we  find  luxuriant  forests  of  pine  and 
fir  abruptly  terminated  by  scored  and  polished 
pavements  on  which  not  even  a  moss  is  growing, 
though  soil  alone  is  required  to  fit  them  fo^  the 
growth  of  trees  200  feet  in  heighl. 


THE    NUT   PINE 
(Pinus  Sabiniana) 

The  Nut  Pine,  the  first  conifer  met  in  ascending  the 
range  from  the  west,  grows  only  on  the  torrid  foot- 
hills, seeming  to  delight  in  the  most  ardent  sun- 
heat,  like  a  palm;  springing  up  here  and  there  singly, 
or  in  scattered  groups  of  five  or  six,  among  scrubby 
White  Oaks  and  thickets  of  ceanothus  and  manza- 
nita;  its  extreme  upper  limit  being  about  4000  feet 
above  the  sea,  its  lower  about  from  500  to  800  feet. 

This  tree  is  remarkable  for  its  airy,  widespread, 
tropical  appearance,  which  suggests  a  region  of 
palms,  rather  than  cool,  resiny  pine  woods.  No  one 
would  take  it  at  first  sight  to  be  a  conifer  of  any 
kind,  it  is  so  loose  in  habit  and  so  widely  branched, 
and  its  foliage  is  so  thin  and  gray.  Full-grown 
specimens  are  from  forty  to  fifty  feet  in  height,  and 
from  two  to  three  feet  in  diameter.  The  trunk 
usually  divides  into  three  or  four  main  branches, 
about  fifteen  and  twenty  feet  from  the  ground, 
which,  after  bearing  away  from  one  another,  shoot 
straight  up  and  form  separate  summits ;  while  the 
crooked  subordinate  branches  aspire,  and  radiate, 
and   droop   in   ornamental   sprays.      The   slender, 


THE  FORESTS  147 

grayish-green  needles  are  from  eight  to  twelve 
inches  long,  loosely  tasseled,  and  inclined  to  droop 
in  handsome  curves,  contrasting  with  the  stiff,  dark- 


NUT    PINE    (PINUS    SABINIANA). 


colored  trunk  and  branches  in  a  very  striking 
manner.  No  other  tree  of  my  acquaintance,  so  sub- 
stantial in  body,  is  in  its  foliage  so  thin  and  so  per- 
vious to  the  light.     The  sunbeams   sift  through 


148  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

oven  the  leafiest  trees  with  scarcely  any  interrup- 
tion, and  the  weary,  heated  traveler  finds  but  little 
protection  in  their  shade. 

The  generous  crop  of  nutritious  nuts  which  the 
Nut  Pine  yields  makes  it  a  favorite  with  Indians, 
bears,  and  squirrels.  The  cones  are  most  beautiful, 
measuring  from  five  to  eight  inches  in  length,  and 
not  much  less  in  thickness,  rich  chocolate-brown  in 
color,  and  protected  by  strong,  down-curving  hooks 
which  terminate  the  scales.  Nevertheless,  the  lit- 
tle Douglas  squirrel  can  open  them.  Indians  gath- 
ering the  ripe  nuts  make  a  striking  picture.  The 
men  climb  the  trees  like  bears  and  beat  oft*  the  cones 
*vith  sticks,  or  recklessly  cut  off  the  more  fruitful 
branches  with  hatchets,  while  the  squaws  gather  the 
big,  generous  cones,  and  roast  them  until  the  scales 
open  sufficiently  to  allow  the  hard-shelled  seeds  to 
be  beaten  out.  Then,  in  the  cool  evenings,  men, 
women,  and  children,  with  their  capacity  for  dirt 
greatly  increased  by  the  soft  resin  with  which  they 
are  all  bedraggled,  form  circles  around  camp-fires, 
on  the  bank  of  the  nearest  stream,  and  lie  in  easy 
independence  cracking  nuts  and  laughing  and  chat- 
tering, as  heedless  of  the  future  as  the  squirrels. 


Finns  tuberculata 

This  curious  little  pine  is  found  at  an  elevation 
of  from  1500  to  3000  feet,  growing  in  close,  willowy 
groves.  It  is  exceedingly  slender  and  graceful  in 
habit,  although  trees  that  chance  to  stand  alone  out- 
side the  groves  sweep  forth  long,  curved  branches, 


THE   FORESTS 


149 


THE    GROVE    FORM.      THE    ISOLATED    FORM    (PINUS    TUBERCULATA). 

producing  a  striking  contrast  to  the  ordinary  grove 
form.  The  foliage  is  of  the  same  peculiar  gray- 
green  color  as  that  of  the  Nut  Pine,  and  is  worn 
about  as  loosely,  so  that  the  body  of  the  tree  is 
scarcely  obscured  by  it. 


150  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

At  the  age  of  seven  or  eight  years  it  begins  to 
bear  cones,  not  on  branches,  bnt  on  the  main  axis, 
and,  as  they  never  fall  off,  the  trunk  is  soon  pic- 
turesquely dotted  with  them.  The  branches  also 
become  fruitful  after  they  attain  sufficient  size. 
The  average  size  of  the  older  trees  is  about  thirty  or 
forty  feet  in  height,  and  twelve  to  fourteen  inches  in 
diameter.  The  cones  are  about  four  inches  long,  ex- 
ceedingly hard,  and  covered  with  a  sort  of  silicious 
varnish  and  gum,  rendering  them  impervious  to 
moisture,  evidently  with  a  view  to  the  careful  pres- 
ervation of  the  seeds. 

No  other  conifer  in  the  range  is  so  closely  re- 
stricted to  special  localities.  It  is  usually  found 
apart,  standing  deep  in  chaparral  on  sunny  hill-  and 
canon-sides  where  there  is  but  little  depth  of  soil, 
and,  where  found  at  all,  it  is  quite  plentiful;  but 
the  ordinary  traveler,  following  carriage-roads  and 
trails,  may  ascend  the  range  many  times  without 
meeting  it. 

AVhile  exploring  the  lower  portion  of  the  Merced 
Canon  I  found  a  lonely  miner  seeking  his  fortune 
in  a  quartz  vein  on  a  wild  mountain-side  planted 
with  this  singular  tree.  He  told  me  that  he  called 
it  the  Hickory  Pine,  because  of  the  whiteness  and 
toughness  of  the  wood.  It  is  so  little  known,  how- 
ever, that  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  a  common 
name.  Most  mountaineers  refer  to  it  as  "  that  queer 
little  pine-tree  covered  all  over  with  burs."  In  my 
studies  of  this  species  I  found  a  very  interesting  and 
significant  group  of  facts,  whose  relations  will  be 
seen  almost  as  soon  as  stated: 

1st.  All  the  trees  in  the  groves  I  examined,  how- 
ever unequal  in  size,  are  of  the  same  age. 


THE   FORESTS 


151 


2d.  Those  groves  are  all  planted  on  dry  hillsides 
covered  with  chaparral,  and  therefore  are  liable  to 
be  swept  by  fire. 

3d.  There  are  no  seedlings  or  saplings  in  or  about 
the  living  groves,  but  there  is  always  a  fine,  hopeful 
crop  springing  up  on  the  ground  once  occupie<  1  1 1 y 


LOWER    MARGIN    OF    THE    MAIN    PINE    BELT,    SHOWING    OPEN 
CHARACTER    OP    WOODS. 


any  grove  that  has  been  destroyed  by  the  burning 
of  the  chaparral. 

4th.  The  cones  never  fall  off  and  never  discharge 
their  seeds  until  the  tree  or  branch  to  which  they 
belong  dies. 

A  full  discussion  of  the  bearing  of  these  facts 
upon  one  another  would  perhaps  be  out  of  place 
here,  but  I  may  at  least  call  attention  to  the  ad- 
mirable adaptation  of  the  tree  to  the  fire-swept  re- 


152  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

gions  where  alone  it  is  found.  After  a  grove  has 
been  destroyed,  the  ground  is  at  once  sown  lavishly 
with  all  the  seeds  ripened  during  its  whole  life, 
which  seem  to  have  been  carefully  held  in  store  with 
reference  to  such  a  calamity.  Then  a  young  grove 
immediately  springs  up,  giving  beauty  for  ashes. 


SUGAR  PINE 
(Pinus  Lambertiana) 

This  is  the  noblest  pine  yet  discovered,  surpass- 
ing all  others  not  merely  in  size  but  also  in  kingly 
beauty  and  majesty. 

It  towers  sublimely  from  every  ridge  and  caiion 
of  the  range,  at  an  elevation  of  from  three  to  seven 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  attaining  most  perfect 
development  at  a  height  of  about  5000  feet. 

Full-grown  specimens  are  commonly  about  220 
feet  high,  and  from  six  to  eight  feet  in  diameter 
near  the  ground,  though  some  grand  old  patriarch 
is  occasionally  met  that  has  enjoyed  five  or  six  cen- 
turies of  storms,  and  attained  a  thickness  of  ten  or 
even  twelve  feet,  living  on  undecayed,  sweet  and 
fresh  in  every  fiber. 

In  southern  Oregon,  where  it  was  first  discovered 
by  David  Douglas,  on  the  head  waters  of  the 
Umpqua,  it  attains  still  grander  dimensions,  one 
specimen  having  been  measured  that  was  245  feet 
high,  and  over  eighteen  feet  in  diameter  three  feet 
from  the  ground.  The  discoverer  was  the  Douglas 
for  whom  the  noble  Douglas  Spruce  is  named,  and 
many  other  plants  which  will  keep  his  memory 


THE   FORESTS  153 

fweet  and  fresh  as  long  as  trees  and  flowers  are 
loved.  His  first  visit  to  the  Pacific  Coast  was  made 
in  the  year  1825.  The  Oregon  Indians  watched  him 
with  curiosity  as  he  wandered  in  the  woods  collect- 
ing specimens,  and,  unlike  the  fur-gathering  stran- 
gers they  had  hitherto  known,  caring  nothing  about 
trade.  And  when  at  length  they  came  to  know 
him  better,  and  saw  that  from  year  to  year  the  grow- 
ing things  of  the  woods  and  prairies  were  his  only 
objects  of  pursuit,  they  called  him  "  The  Man  of 
Grass,"  a  title  of  which  he  was  proud.  During  his 
first  summer  on  the  waters  of  the  Columbia  he 
made  Fort  Vancouver  his  headquarters,  making  ex- 
cursions from  this  Hudson  Bay  post  in  every  direc- 
tion. On  one  of  his  long  trips  he  saw  in  an  Indian's 
pouch  some  of  the  seeds  of  a  new  species  of  pine 
which  he  learned  were  obtained  from  a  very  large 
tree  far  to  the  southward  of  the  Columbia.  At  the 
end  of  the  next  summer,  returning  to  Fort  Vancou- 
ver after  the  setting  in  of  the  winter  rains,  bearing 
in  mind  the  big  pine  he  had  heard  of,  he  set  out 
on  an  excursion  up  the  Willamette  Valley  in  search 
of  it ;  and  how  he  fared,  and  what  dangers  and 
hardships  he  endured,  are  best  told  in  his  own 
journal,  from  which  I  quote  as  follows : 

October  26,  1826.  Weather  dull.  Cold  and  cloudy. 
When  my  friends  in  England  are  made  acquainted  with 
my  travels  I  fear  they  will  think  I  have  told  them  nothing 
hut  my  miseries.  ...  I  quitted  my  camp  early  in  the 
morning  to  survey  the  neighboring  country,  leaving  my 
guide  to  take  charge  of  the  horses  until  my  return  in  the 
evening.  About  an  hour's  walk  from  the  camp  I  met  an 
Indian,  who  on  perceiving  me  instantly  strung  his  bow, 


154  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

placed  on  his  left  arm  a  sleeve  of  raccoon  skin  and  stood 
on  the  defensive.  Being  quite  sure  that  conduct  was 
prompted  by  fear  and  not  by  hostile  intentions,  the  poor 
fellow  having'  probably  never  seen  such  a  being  as  myself 
before,  I  laid  my  gun  at  my  feet  on  the  ground  and  waved 
my  hand  for  him  to  come  to  me,  which  he  did  slowly  and 
with  great  caution.  I  then  made  him  place  his  bow  and 
quiver  of  arrows  beside  my  gun,  and  striking  a  light  gave 
him  a  smoke  out  of  my  own  pipe  and  a  present  of  a  few 
beads.  With  my  pencil  I  made  a  rough  sketch  of  the  cone 
and  pine  tree  which  I  wanted  to  obtain,  and  drew  his  at- 
tention to  it,  when  he  instantly  pointed  with  his  hand  to 
the  hills  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  distant  towards  the  south ; 
and  when  I  expressed  my  intention  of  going  thither,  cheer- 
fully set  out  to  accompany  me.  At  midday  I  reached  my 
long-wished-f  or  pines,  and  lost  no  time  in  examining  them 
and  endeavoring  to  collect  specimens  and  seeds.  New  and 
strange  things  seldom  fail  to  make  strong  impressions, 
and  are  therefore  frequently  over-rated;  so  that,  lest  I 
should  never  see  my  friends  in  England  to  inform  them 
verbally  of  this  most  beautiful  and  immensely  grand  tree, 
I  shall  here  state  the  dimensions  of  the  largest  I  could 
find  among  several  that  had  been  blown  down  by  the  wind. 
At  3  feet  from  the  ground  its  circumference  is  57  feet  9 
inches ;  at  134  feet,  17  feet  5  inches ;  the  extreme  length 
245  feet.  .  .  .  As  it  was  impossible  either  to  climb  the 
tree  or  hew  it  down,  I  endeavored  to  knock  off  the  cones 
by  firing  at  them  with  ball,  when  the  report  of  my  gun 
brought  eight  Indians,  all  of  them  painted  with  red  earth, 
armed  with  bows,  arrows,  bone-tipped  spears,  and  flint- 
knives.  They  appeared  anything  but  friendly.  I  explained 
to  them  what  I  wanted,  and  they  seemed  satisfied  and  sat 
down  to  smoke ;  but  presently  I  saw  one  of  them  string 
his  bow,  and  another  sharpen  his  flint  knife  with  a  pair  of 
wooden  pincers  and  suspend  it  on  the  wrist  of  his  right 
hand.     Further  testimony  of  their  intentions  was  unne- 


THE   FOKESTS  155 

cessary.  To  save  myself  by  flight  was  impossible,  so  with- 
out hesitation  I  stepped  back  about  five  paces,  cocked  my 
gun,  drew  one  of  the  pistols  out  of  my  belt,  and  holding 
it  in  my  left  hand  and  the  gun  in  my  right,  showed  myself 
determined  to  fight  for  my  life.  As  much  as  possible  1 
endeavored  to  preserve  my  coolness,  and  thus  we  stood 
looking  at  one  another  without  making  any  movement  or 
uttering  a  word  for  perhaps  ten  minutes,  when  one  at  last , 
who  seemed  to  be  the  leader,  gave  a  sign  that  they  wished 
for  some  tobacco;  this  I  signified  that  they  should  have 
if  they  fetched  a  quantity  of  cones.  They  went  off  im- 
mediately in  search  of  them,  and  no  sooner  were  they  all 
out  of  sight  than  I  picked  up  my  three  cones  and  some 
twigs  of  the  trees  and  made  the  quickest  possible  retreat, 
hurrying  back  to  the  camp,  which  I  reached  before  dusk. 
...  I  now  write  lying  on  the  grass  with  my  gun  cocked 
beside  me,  and  penning  these  hues  by  the  light  of  my 
Columbian  candle,  namely,  an  ignited  piece  of  rosin-wood. 

This  grand  pine  discovered  under  such  exciting 
circumstances  Douglas  named  in  honor  of  his  friend 
Dr.  Lambert  of  London. 

The  trunk  is  a  smooth,  round,  delicately  tapered 
shaft,  mostly  without  limbs,  and  colored  rich  pur- 
plish-brown, usually  enlivened  with  tufts  of  yellow 
lichen.  At  the  top  of  this  magnificent  bole,  long, 
curving  branches  sweep  gracefully  outward  and 
downward,  sometimes  forming  a  palm-like  crown, 
but  far  more  nobly  impressive  than  any  palm  cr<  >wi  1 
I  ever  beheld.  The  needles  are  about  three  inches 
long,  finely  tempered  and  arranged  in  rather  close 
tassels  at  the  ends  of  slender  branchlets  that  clothe 
the  long,  outsweeping  limbs.  How  well  they  sing 
in  the  whutand  how  strikingly  harmonious  an  effe<  t 


156  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

is  made  by  the  immense  cylindrical  cones  that  de- 
pend loosely  from  the  ends  of  the  main  branches ! 
No  one  knows  what  Nature  can  do  in  the  way  of 
pine-burs  until  he  has  seen  those  of  the  Sugar 
Pine.  They  are  commonly  from  fifteen  to  eighteen 
inches  long,  and  three  in  diameter;  green,  shaded 
with  dark  purple  on  their  sunward  sides.  They  are 
ripe  in  September  and  October.  Then  the  flat 
scales  open  and  the  seeds  take  wing,  but  the  empty 
cones  become  still  more  beautiful  and  effective,  for 
their  diameter  is  nearly  doubled  by  the  spreading 
of  the  scales,  and  their  color  changes  to  a  warm 
yellowish-brown;  while  they  remain  swinging  on 
the  tree  all  the  following  winter  and  summer,  and 
continue  effectively  beautiful  even  on  the  ground 
many  years  after  they  fall.  The  wood  is  deliciously 
fragrant,  and  fine  in  grain  and  texture ;  it  is  of  a  rich 
cream-yellow,  as  if  formed  of  condensed  sunbeams* 
Betinospora  obtusa,  Siebold,  the  glory  of  Eastern 
forests,  is  called  "  Fu-si-no-ki "  (tree  of  the  sun)  by 
the  Japanese ;  the.  Sugar  Pine  is  the  sun-tree  of  the 
Sierra.  Unfortunately  it  is  greatly  prized  by  the 
lumbermen,  and  in  accessible  places  is  always 
the  first  tree  in  the  woods  to  feel  their  steel.  But  the 
regular  lumbermen,  with  their  saw-mills,  have  been 
less  generally  destructive  thus  far  than  the  shingle- 
makers.  The  wood  splits  freely,  and  there  is  a  con- 
stant demand  for  the  shingles.  And  because  an  ax, 
and  saw,  and  frow  are  all  the  capital  required  for 
the  business,  many  of  that  drifting,  unsteady  class 
of  men  so  large  in  California  engage  in  it  for  a  few 
months  in  the  year.  When  prospectors,  hunters, 
ranch  hands,  etc.,  touch  their  "  bottom  dollar  "  and 


THE   FORESTS 


157 


find  themselves  out  of 
employment,  they  say, 
"Well,  I  can  at  least 
go  to  the  Sugar  Pines 
and  make  shingles." 
A  few  posts  are  set  in 
the  ground,  and  a 
single  length  cut  from 
the  first  tree  felled  pro- 
duces boards  enough 
for  the  walls  and  roof 
of  a  cabin ;  all  the  rest 
the  lumberman  makes 
is  for  sale,  and  he  is 
speedily  independent. 
No  gardener  or  hay- 
maker is  more  sweetly 
perfumed  than  these 
rough  mountaineers 
while  engaged  in  this 
business,but  the  havoc 
they  make  is  most  de- 
plorable 

The  sugar,  from 
which  the  common 
name  is  derived,  is  to 
my  taste  the  best  of 
sweets  —  better  thai i 
maple  sugar.  It  ex- 
udes from  the  heart- 
wood,  where  wounds 
have  been  made,  either 
by  forest  fires,  or  the 


SUGAR    PINE    ON    EXPOSED    RIDGE. 


158  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

ax,  in  the  shape  of  irregular,  crisp,  candy-like  ker- 
nels, Avhich  are  crowded  together  in  masses  of  con- 
siderable size,  like  clusters  of  resin-beads.  When 
fresh,  it  is  perfectly  white  and  delicious,  but,  be- 
cause most  of  the  wounds  on  which  it  is  found  have 
been  made  by  fire,  the  exuding  sap  is  stained  on 
the  charred  surface,  and  the  hardened  sugar  be- 
comes brown.  Indians  are  fond  of  it,  but  on  account 
of  its  laxative  properties  only  small  quantities  may 
be  eaten.  Bears,  so  fond  of  sweet  things  in  gen- 
eral, seem  never  to  taste  it ;  at  least  I  have  failed  to 
find  any  trace  of  their  teeth  in  this  connection. 

No  lover  of  trees  will  ever  forget  his  first  meeting 
with  the  Sugar  Pine,  nor  will  he  afterward  need  a 
poet  to  call  him  to  "  listen  what  the  pine-tree  saith." 
In  most  pine-trees  there  is  a  sameness  of  expression, 
which,  to  most  people,  is  apt  to  become  monotonous ; 
for  the  typical  spiry  form,  however  beautiful,  affords 
but  little  scope  for  appreciable  individual  character. 
The  Sugar  Pine  is  as  free  from  conventionalities 
of  form  and  motion  as  any  oak.  No  two  are  alike, 
even  to  the  most  inattentive  observer;  and,  notwith- 
standing they  are  ever  tossing  out  their  immense 
arms  in  what  might  seem  most  extravagant  gestures, 
there  is  a  majesty  and  repose  about  them  that  pre- 
cludes all  possibility  of  the  grotesque,  or  even  pic- 
turesque, in  their  general  expression.  They  are  the 
priests  of  pines,  and  seem  ever  to  be  addressing  the 
surrounding  forest.  The  Yellow  Pine  is  found 
growing  with  them  on  warm  hillsides,  and  the 
White  Silver  Fir  on  cool  northern  slopes ;  but,  noble 
as  these  are,  the  Sugar  Pine  is  easily  king,  and 
spreads  his  arms  above  them  in  blessing  while  they 


THE   FORESTS  1">!> 

rock  and  wave  in  sign  of  recognition.  The  main 
branches  are  sometimes  found  to  be  forty  feet  in 

length,  yet  persistently  simple,  seldom  dividing  at 
all,  excepting  near  the  end;  but  anything  like  a  bare 
cable  appearance  is  prevented  by  the  small,  tasseled 
branchlets  that  extend  all  around  them;  and  when 
these  superb  limbs  sweep  out  symmetrically  on  all 
sides,  a  crown  sixty  or  seventy  feet  wide  is  formed, 
which,  gracefully  poised  on  the  summit  of  the  noble 
shaft,  and  filled  with  sunshine,  is  one  of  the  mosl 
glorious  forest  objects  conceivable.  Commonly, 
however,  there  is  a  great  preponderance  of  limbs 
toward  the  east,  away  from  the  direction  of  the 
prevailing  winds. 

No  other  pine  seems  to  me  so  unfamiliar  and  self' 
contained.  In  approaching  it,  we  feel  as  if  in  the 
presence  of  a  superior  being,  and  begin  to  walk  wit  h 
a  light  step,  holding  our  breath.  Then,  perchance, 
while  we  gaze  awe-stricken,  along  comes  a  merry 
squirrel,  chattering  and  laughing,  to  break  the  spell, 
running  up  the  trunk  with  no  ceremony,  and  gnaw- 
ing off  the  cones  as  if  they  were  made  only  for 
him;  while  the  carpenter- woodpecker  hammers 
away  at  the  bark,  drilling  holes  in  which  to  store 
his  winter  supply  of  acorns. 

Although  so  wild  and  unconventional  when  full- 
grown,  the  Sugar  Pine  is  a  remarkably  proper  tree 
in  youth.  The  old  is  the  most  original  and  inde- 
pendent in  appearance  of  all  the  Sierra  evergreens ; 
the  young  is  the  most  regular, —  a  strict  follower  of 
coniferous  fashions, —  slim,  erect,  with  leafy,  supple 
branches  kept  exactly  in  place,  each  tapering  in  out- 
line and  terminating  in  a  spiry  point.     The  succes- 


ICO 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


sive  transitional  forms  presented  between  the  cau- 
tions neatness  of  youth  and  bold  freedom  of  ma- 
turity offer  a  delightful  study.  At  the  age  of  fifty 
or  sixty  years,  the  shy,  fashionable  form  begins  to 


YOUNG    SUGAR    PINE    BEGINNING    TO    BEAR    CONES. 


be  broken  up.  Specialized  branches  push  out  in 
the  most  unthought-of  places,  and  bend  with  the 
great  cones,  at  once  marking  individual  character, 
and  this  being  constantly  augmented  from  year  to 
year  by  the  varying  action  of  the  sunlight,  winds, 


THE   FORESTS 


161 


snow-storms,  etc.,  the  individuality  of  the  tree  is 
never  again  lost  in  the  general  forest. 

The  most  constant  companion  of  this  species  is 
the  Yellow  Pine,  and  a  worthy  companion  it  is. 


The  Douglas  Spruce,  Libocedrus,  Sequoia,  and  the 
White  Silver  Fir  are  also  more  or  less  associated 
with  it;  but  on  many  deep-soiled  mountain-sides, 


162  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

at  an  elevation  of  about  5000  feet  above  the  sea,  i  t 
forms  the  bulk  of  the  forest,  filling  every  swell 
and  hollow  and  down-plunging  ravine.  The  ma- 
jestic crowns,  approaching  each  other  in  bold 
curves,  make  a  glorious  canopy  through  which  the 
tempered  sunbeams  pour,  silvering  the  needles,  and 
gilding  the  massive  boles,  and  flowery,  park-like 
ground,  into  a  scene  of  enchantment. 

On  the  most  sunny  slopes  the  white-flowered  fra- 
grant chamoebatia  is  spread  like  a  carpet,  bright- 
ened during  early  summer  with  the  crimson  Sar- 
codes,  the  wild  rose,  and  innumerable  violets  and 
gilias.  Not  even  in  the  shadiest  nooks  will  you 
find  any  rank,  untidy  weeds  or  unwholesome  dark- 
ness. On  the  north  sides  of  ridges  the  boles  are 
more  slender,  and  the  ground  is  mostly  occupied 
by  an  underbrush  of  hazel,  ceanothus,  and  flower- 
ing dogwood,  but  never  so  densely  as  to  prevent 
the  traveler  from  sauntering  where  he  will ;  while 
the  crowning  branches  are  never  impenetrable 
to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  never  so  interblended  as 
to  lose  their  individuality. 

View  the  forest  from  beneath  or  from  some  com- 
manding ridge-top;  each  tree  presents  a  study  in 
itself,  and  proclaims  the  surpassing  grandeur  of  the 
species. 

YELLOW,  OR  SILVER  PINE 

(Pinits  pondcrosa) 

The  Silver,  or  Yellow,  Pine,  as  it  is  commonly 
called,  ranks  second  among  the  pines  of  the  Sierra 
as  a  lumber  tree,  and  almost  rivals  the  Sugar  Pine 
in  stature  and  nobleness  of  port.    Because  of  its 


THE   FORESTS  163 

superior  powers  of  enduring  variations  of  climate 
and  soil,  it  has  a  more  extensive  range  than  any 
other  conifer  growing  on  the  Sierra,  On  the  west- 
ern slope  it  is  first  met  at  an  elevation  of  about 
2000  feet,  and  extends  nearly  to  the  upper  limit 
of  the  timber  line.  Thence,  crossing  the  range  by 
the  lowest  passes,  it  descends  to  the  eastern  base, 
and  pushes  out  for  a  considerable  distance  into  the 
hot  volcanic  plains,  growing  bravely  upon  well- 
watered  moraines,  gravelly  lake  basins,  arctic 
ridges,  and  torrid  lava-beds;  planting  itself  upon 
the  lips  of  craters,  flourishing  vigorously  even  there, 
and  tossing  ripe  cones  among  the  ashes  and  cinders 
of  Nature's  hearths. 

The  average  size  of  full-grown  trees  on  the  west- 
ern slope,  where  it  is  associated  with  the  Sugar 
Pine,  is  a  little  less  than  200  feet  in  height  and 
from  five  to  six  feet  in  diameter,  though  specimens 
may  easily  be  found  that  are  considerably  larger. 
I  measured  one,  growing  at  an  elevation  of  4000 
feet  in  the  valley  of  the  Merced,  that  is  a  few  inches 
over  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  220  feet  high. 

Where  there  is  plenty  of  free  sunshine  and  other 
conditions  are  favorable,  it  presents  a  striking  con- 
trast in  form  to  the  Sugar  Pine,  being  a  symmel  deal 
spire,  formed  of  a  straight  round  trunk,  clad  with 
innumerable  branches  that  are  divided  over  and 
over  again.  About  one  half  of  the  trunk  is  com- 
monly branchless,  but  where  it  grows  at  all  close, 
three  fourths  or  more  become  naked;  the  tree  pre- 
senting then  a  more  slender  and  elegant  shaft  than 
any  other  tree  in  the  woods.  The  bark  is  mostly  a  r- 
ranged  in  massive  plates,  some  of  them  measuring 


164 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   (JALIFOKNIA 


PINUS    PONDEROSA. 


' 


four  or  five  feet  in  length  by  eighteen  inches  m 
width,  with  a  thickness  of  three  or  four  inches, 


THE   FORESTS  165 

forming  a  quite  marked  and  distinguishing  feature. 
The  needles  are  of  a  fine,  warm,  yellow-green  color, 
six  to  eight  inches  long,  firm  and  elastic,  and 
crowded  in  handsome,  radiant  tassels  on  the  upturn- 
ing ends  of  the  branches.  The  cones  are  about  three 
or  four  inches  long,  and  two  and  a  half  wide,  glow- 
ing in  close,  sessile  clusters  among  the  leaves. 

The  species  attains  its  noblest  form  in  filled-up 
lake  basins,  especially  in  those  of  the  older  yosem- 
ites,  and  so  prominent  a  part  does  it  form  of  their 
groves  that  it  may  well  be  called  the  Yosemite 
Pine.  Ripe  specimens  favorably  situated  are  almost 
always  200  feet  or  more  in  height,  and  the  branches 
clothe  the  trunk  nearly  to  the  ground,  as  seen  in 
the  illustration. 

The  Jeffrey  variety  attains  its  finest  development 
in  the  northern  portion  of  the  range,  in  the  wide 
basins  of  the  McCloud  and  Pitt  rivers,  where  it 
forms  magnificent  forests  scarcely  invaded  by  any 
other  tree.  It  differs  from  the  ordinary  form  in 
size,  being  only  about  half  as  tall,  and  in  its  redder 
and  more  closely  furrowed  bark,  grayish-green  fo- 
liage, less  divided  branches,  and  larger  cones;  but 
intermediate  forms  come  in  which  make  a  clear  sepa- 
ration impossible,  although  some  botanists  regan  1  it 
as  a  distinct  species.  It  is  this  variety  that  climbs 
storm-swept  ridges,  and  wanders  out  among  the  vol- 
canoes of  the  Great  Basin.  Whether  exposed  to 
extremes  of  heat  or  cold,  it  is  dwarfed  like  every 
other  tree,  and  becomes  all  knots  and  angles,  wholly 
unlike  the  majestic  forms  we  have  been  sketching. 
Old  specimens,  bearing  cones  about  as  big  as  pine- 
apples, may  sometimes  be  found  clinging  to  rifted 


166 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 


SILVER    PINE    210    FEET    HIGH. 

(THE    FORM    GROWING    IN 

YOSEMITE    VALLEY.) 


n. 


rocks  at  an  elevation  of 
seven  or  eight  thousand 
feet,  whose  highest  bran- 
ches scarce  reach  above 
one's  shoulders. 

I  have  oftentimes 
feasted  on  the  beauty  of 
these  noble  trees  when 
they  were  towering  in 
all  their  winter  grandeur, 
laden  with  snow  —  one 
mass  of  bloom;  in  sum- 
mer, too,  when  the  brown, 
staminate  clusters  hang 
thick  among  the  shim- 
mering needles,  and  the 
big  purple  burs  are  ripen- 
ing in  the  mellow  light ; 
but  it  is  during  cloudless 
wind-storms  that  these 
colossal  pines  are  most 
impressively  beautiful. 
Then  they  bow  like  wil- 
lows, their  leaves  stream- 
ing forward  all  in  one 
direction,  and,  when  the 
sun  shines  upon  them  at 
the  required  angle,  entire 
groves  glow  as  if  every 
leafwereburnishedsilver. 
The  fall  of  tropic  light  on 
the  royal  crown  of  a  palm 
is  a  truly  glorious  spec- 
tacle, the  fervid  sun-flood 


THE   FORESTS  167 

breaking  upon  the  glossy  leaves  in  long  lance-rays, 
like  mountain  water  among  boulders.  But  to  me 
there  is  something  more  impressive  in  the  fall  of 
light  upon  these  Silver  Pines.  It  seems  beaten  to 
the  finest  dust,  and  is  shed  off  in  myriads  of  minute 
sparkles  that  seem  to  come  from  the  very  heart  of 
the  trees,  as  if,  like  rain  falling  upon  fertile  soil,  it 
had  been  absorbed,  to  reappear  in  flowers  of  light. 

This  species  also  gives  forth  the  finest  music  to 
the  wind.  After  listening  to  it  in  all  kinds  of  winds, 
night  and  day,  season  after  season,  I  think  I  could 
approximate  to  my  position  on  the  mountains  by 
this  pine-music  alone.  If  you  would  catch  the 
tones  of  separate  needles,  climb  a  tree.  They  are 
well  tempered,  and  give  forth  no  uncertain  sound, 
each  standing  out,  with  no  interference  excepting 
during  heavy  gales;  then  you  may  detect  the  click 
of  one-needle  upon  another,  readily  distinguishable 
from  their  free,  wing-like  hum.  Some  idea  of  their 
temper  may  be  drawn  from  the  fact  that,  notwith- 
standing they  are  so  long,  the  vibrations  that  give  rise 
to  the  peculiar  shimmering  of  the  light  are  made  at 
the  rate  of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  per  minute. 

When  a  Sugar  Pine  and  one  of  this  species  equal 
in  size  are  observed  together,  the  latter  is  seen  to 
be  far  more  simple  in  manners,  more  lithely  grace- 
ful, and  its  beauty  is  of  a  kind  more  easily  appre- 
ciated; but  then,  it  is,  on  the  other  hand,  much  less 
dignified  and  original  in  demeanor.  The  Silver 
Pine  seems  eager  to  shoot  aloft.  Even  while  it  is 
drowsing  in  autumn  sun-gold,  you  may  still  detect 
a  skyward  aspiration.  But  the  Sugar  Pine  seems 
too  unconsciously  noble,  and  too  complete  in  every 
way,  to  leave  room  for  even  a  heavenward  care. 


168  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

DOUGLAS   SPRUCE 
(Pseudotsuga  Douglasii) 

This  tree  is  the  king  of  the  spruces,  as  the  Sugar 
Pine  is  king  of  pines.  It  is  by  far  the  most  majestic 
spruce  I  ever  beheld  in  any  forest,  and  one  of  the 
largest  and  longest  lived  of  the  giants  that  nourish 
throughout  the  main  pine  belt,  often  attaining  a 
height  of  nearly  200  feet,  and  a  diameter  of  six 
or  seven.  Where  the  growth  is  not  too  close,  the 
strong,  spreading  branches  come  more  than  halfway 
down  the  trunk,  and  these  are  hung  with  innumer- 
able slender,  swaying  sprays,  that  are  handsomely 
feathered  with  the  short  leaves  which  radiate  at 
right  angles  all  around  them.  This  vigorous  spruce 
is  ever  beautiful,  welcoming  the  mountain  winds  and 
the  snow  as  well  as  the  mellow  summer  light,  and 
maintaining  its  youthful  freshness  undiminished 
from  century  to  century  through  a  thousand  storms. 

It  makes  its  finest  appearance  in  the  months  of 
June  and  July.  The  rich  brown  buds  with  which  its 
sprays  are  tipped  swell  and  break  about  this  time, 
revealing  the  young  leaves,  which  at  first  are  bright 
yellow,  making  the  tree  appear  as  if  covered  with  gay 
blossoms ;  while  the  pendulous  bracted  cones  with 
their  shell-like  scales  are  a  constant  adornment. 

The  young  trees  are  mostly  gathered  into  beauti- 
ful family  groups,  each  sapling  exquisitely  sym- 
metrical. The  primary  branches  are  whorled  regu- 
larly around  the  axis,  generally  in  fives,  while  each 
is  draped  with  long,  feathery  sprays,  that  descend 
in  curves  as  free  and  as  finely  drawn  as  those  of 
falling  water. 


THE   FORESTS  169 

In  Oregon  and  Washington  it  grows  in  dense 
forests,  growing  tall  and  mast-like  to  a  height  of  300 
feet,  and  is  greatly  prized  as  a  lumber  tree.  But  in 
the  Sierra  it  is  scattered  among  other  trees,  or 
forms  small  groves,  seldom  ascending  higher  than 
5500  feet,  and  never  making  what  would  be  called  a 
forest.  It  is  not  particular  in  its  choice  of  soil  — 
wet  or  dry,  smooth  or  rocky,  it  makes  out  to  Live 
well  on  them  all.  Two  of  the  largest  specimens  I 
have  measured  are  in  Yosemite  Valley,  one  of  wlii<-li 
is  more  than  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  is  growing 
upon  the  terminal  moraine  of  the  residual  glacier 
that  occupied  the  South  Fork  Canon ;  the  other  is 
nearly  as  large,  growing  upon  angular  blocks  of 
granite  that  have  been  shaken  from  the  precipitous 
front  of  the  Liberty  Cap  near  the  Nevada  Fall.  No 
other  tree  seems  so  capable  of  adapting  itself  to 
earthquake  taluses,  and  many  of  these  rough  boul- 
der-slopes are  occupied  by  it  almost  exclusively,  es- 
pecially in  yosemite  gorges  moistened  by  the  spray 
of  waterfalls. 

INCENSE   CEDAR 
(Idbocedrus  deeurrens)  ■ 

The  Incense  Cedar  is  another  of  the  giants  quite 
generally  distributed  throughout  this  portion  of  the 
forest,  without  exclusively  occupying  any  consider- 
able area,  or  even  making  extensive  groves.  It  as- 
cends to  about  5000  feet  on  the  warmer  hillsides,  and 
reaches  the  climate  most  congenial  to  it  at  about 
from  3000  to  4000  feet,  growing  vigorously  at  this  ele- 
vation on  all  kinds  of  soil,  and  in  particular  it  is  cap- 


170  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

able  of  enduring  more  moisture  about  its  roots  than 
any  of  its  companions,  excepting  only  the  Sequoia. 

The  largest  specimens  are  about  150  feet  high, 
and  seven  feet  in  diameter.  The  bark  is  brown,  of 
a  singularly  rich  tone  very  attractive  to  artists,  and 
the  foliage  is  tinted  with  a  warmer  yellow  than  that 
of  any  other  evergreen  in  the  woods.  Casting  your 
eye  over  the  general  forest  from  some  ridge-top, 
the  color  alone  of  its  spiry  summits  is  sufficient  to 
identify  it  in  any  company. 

In  youth,  say  up  to  the  age  of  seventy  or  eighty 
years,  no  other  tree  forms  so  strictly  tapered  a  cone 
from  top  to  bottom.  The  branches  swoop  outward 
and  downward  in  bold  curves,  excepting  the  younger 
ones  near  the  top,  which  aspire,  while  the  lowest 
droop  to  the  ground,  and  all  spread  out  in  flat, 
ferny  plumes,  beautifully  fronded,  and  imbricated 
upon  one  another.  As  it  becomes  older,  it  grows 
strikingly  irregular  and  picturesque.  Large  special 
branches  put  out  at  right  angles  from  the  trunk,  f orm 
big,  stubborn  elbows,  and  then  shoot  up  parallel 
with  the  axis.  Very  old  trees  are  usually  dead  at 
the  top,  the  main  axis  protruding  above  ample 
masses  of  green  plumes,  gray  and  lichen-covered, 
and  drilled  full  of  acorn  holes  by  the  woodpeckers. 
The  plumes  are  exceedingly  beautiful;  no  waving 
fern-frond  in  shady  dell  is  more  unreservedly  beau- 
tiful in  form  and  texture,  or  half  so  inspiring  in 
color  and  spicy  fragrance.  In  its  prime,  the  whole 
tree  is  thatched  with  them,  so  that  they  shed  off 
rain  and  snow  like  a  roof,  making  fine  mansions  for 
storm-bound  birds  and  mountaineers.  But  if  you 
would  see  the  Liboccdrus  in  all  its  glory,  you  must 


INCENSE    CEDAR    IN    ITS    PRIME. 


L72 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


go  to  the  woods  in  winter.  Then  it  is  laden  with 
myriads  of  four-sided  staminate  cones  about  the 
size  of  wheat  grains, —  winter  wheat, —  producing 
a  golden  tinge,  and  forming  a  noble  illustration  of 
Nature's  immortal  vigor  and  virility.  The  fertile 
cones  are  about  three  fourths  of  an  inch  long,  borne 
on  the  outside  of  the  plumy  branchlets,  where  they 
serve  to  enrich  still  more  the  surpassing  beauty  of 
this  grand  winter-blooming  goldenrod. 


WHITE   SILVER   FIR 
{Abies  concolor) 

We  come  now  to  the  most  regularly  planted  of 

all  the  main  forest 
belts,  composed  almost 
exclusively  of  two 
noble  firs — A.  concolor 
and  A.  magnified.  It  ex- 
tends with  no  marked 
interruption  for  450 
miles,  at  an  elevation 
of  from  5000  to  nearly 
9000  feet  above  the  sea. 
In  its  youth  A.  con- 
color is  a  charmingly 
symmetrical  tree  with 
branches  regularlj 
whorled  in  level  col 
lars  around  its  whit- 
ish-gray axis,  which 
terminates  in  a  strong, 


FOREST    OF    GRAND     SILVER    FIRS. 

TWO    SEQUOIAS    IN    THE    FOREGROUND 

ON    THE    LEFT. 


THE  FORESTS  173 

hopeful  shoot.  The  leaves  are  in  two  horizontal 
rows,  along  branchlets  that  commonly  are  less  than 
eight  years  old,  forming  handsome  plumes,  pin- 
nated like  the  fronds  of  ferns.  The  cones  are  gray- 
ish-green when  ripe,  cylindrical,  about  from  three 
to  four  inches  long  by  one  and  a  half  to  two  inches 
wide,  and  stand  upright  on  the  upper  branches. 

Full-grown  trees,  favorably  situated  as  to  soil 
and  exposure,  are  about  200  feet  high,  and  five  or 
six  feet  in  diameter  near  the  ground,  though  larger 
specimens  are  by  no  means  rare. 

As  old  age  creeps  on,  the  bark  becomes  rougher 
and  grayer,  the  branches  lose  their  exact  regular]  t  y, 
many  are  snow-bent  or  broken  off,  and  the  main 
axis  often  becomes  double  or  otherwise  irregular 
from  accidents  to  the  terminal  bud  or  shoot;  but 
throughout  all  the  vicissitudes  of  its  life  on  the 
mountains,  come  what  may,  the  noble  grandeur  of 
the  species  is  patent  to  every  eye. 


MAGNIFICENT  SILVER  FIE,  OR  RED  FIR 
(Abies  magnified) 

This  is  the  most  charmingly  symmetrical  of  all 
the  giants  of  the  Sierra  woods,  far  surpassing  its 
companion  species  in  this  respect,  and  easily  dis- 
tinguished from  it  by  the  purplish-red  bark,  which 
is  also  more  closely  furrowed  than  that  of  the  whit<  \ 
and  by  its  larger  cones,  more  regularly  whorled  and 
fronded  branches,  and  by  its  leaves,  which  arc 
shorter,  and  grow  all  around  the  branchlets  and 
point  upward. 


174  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

In  size,  these  two  Silver  Firs  are  about  equal, 
the  magnified  perhaps  a  little  the  taller.  Specimens 
from  200  to  250  feet  high  are  not  rare  on  well- 
ground  moraine  soil,  at  an  elevation  of  from  7500 
to  8500  feet  above  sea-level.  The  largest  that  I 
measured  stands  back  three  miles  from  the  brink  of 
the  north  wall  of  Yosemite  Valley.  Fifteen  years 
ago  it  was  240  feet  high,  with  a  diameter  of  a  little 
more  than  five  feet. 

Happy  the  man  with  the  freedom  and  the  love  to 
climb  one  of  these  superb  trees  in  full  flower  and 
fruit.  How  admirable  the  forest-work  of  Nature  is 
then  seen  to  be,  as  one  makes  his  way  up  through 
the  midst  of  the  broad,  fronded  branches,  all  ar- 
ranged in  exquisite  order  around  the  trunk,  like 
the  whorled  leaves  of  lilies,  and  each  branch  and 
branchlet  about  as  strictly  pinnate  as  the  most  sym- 
metrical fern-frond.  The  staminate  cones  are  seen 
growing  straight  downward  from  the  under  side  of 
the  young  branches  in  lavish  profusion,  making  fine 
purple  clusters  amid  the  grayish-green  foliage.  On 
the  topmost  branches  the  fertile  cones  are  set  firmly 
on  end  like  small  casks.  They  are  about  six  inches 
long,  three  wide,  covered  with  a  fine  gray  down, 
and  streaked  with  crystal  balsam  that  seems  to  have 
been  poured  upon  each  cone  from  above. 

Both  the  Silver  Firs  live  250  years  or  more  when 
the  conditions  about  them  are  at  all  favorable. 
Some  venerable  patriarch  may  often  be  seen,  heavily 
storm-marked,  towering*  in  severe  majesty  above 
the  rising  generation,  with  a  protecting  grove  of 
saplings  pressing  close  around  his  feet,  each  dressed 
with  such  loving  care  that  not  a  leaf  seems  want- 


176  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ing.  Other  companies  are  made  up  of  trees  near 
the  prime  of  life,  exquisitely  harmonized  to  one 
another  in  form  and  gesture,  as  if  Nature  had  culled 
them  one  by  one  with  nice  discrimination  from  all 
the  rest  of  the  woods. 

It  is  from  this  tree,  called  Red  Fir  by  the  lumber- 
man, that  mountaineers  always  cut  boughs  to  sleep 
on  when  they  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  within  its 
limits.  Two  rows  of  the  plushy  branches  overlap- 
ping along  the  middle,  and  a  crescent  of  smaller 
plumes  mixed  with  ferns  and  flowers  for  a  pillow, 
form  the  very  best  bed  imaginable.  The  essences 
of  the  pressed  leaves  seem  to  fill  every  pore  of  one's 
body,  the  sounds  of  falling  water  make  a  soothing 
hush,  while  the  spaces  between  the  grand  spires 
afford  noble  openings  through  which  to  gaze 
dreamily  into  the  starry  sky.  Even  in  the  matter 
of  sensuous  ease,  any  combination  of  cloth,  steel 
springs,  and  feathers  seems  vulgar  in  comparison. 

The  fir  woods  are  delightful  sauntering-grounds 
at  any  time  of  year,  but  most  so  in  autumn.  Then 
the  noble  trees  are  hushed  in  the  hazy  light,  and 
drip  with  balsam;  the  cones  are  ripe,  and  the  seeds, 
with  their  ample  purple  wings,  mottle  the  air  like 
flocks  of  butterflies;  while  deer  feeding  in  the 
flowery  openings  between  the  groves,  and  birds  and 
squirrels  in  the  branches,  make  a  pleasant  stir  which 
enriches  the  deep,  brooding  calm  of  the  wilderness, 
and  gives  a  peculiar  impressiveness  to  every  tree. 
No  wonder  the  enthusiastic  Douglas  went  wild  with 
joy  when  he  first  discovered  this  species.  Even  in 
the  Sierra,  where  so  many  noble  evergreens  chal- 
lenge admiration,  we  linger  among  these  colossal  firs 


178  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

with  fresh  love,  and  extol  their  beauty  again  and 
again,  as  if  no  other  in  the  world  could  henceforth 
claim  our  regard. 

It  is  in  these  woods  the  great  granite  domes  rise 
that  are  so  striking  and  characteristic  a  feature  of 
the  Sierra.  And  here  too  we  find  the  best  of  the 
garden  meadows.  They  lie  level  on  the  tops  of  the 
dividing  ridges,  or  sloping  on  the  sides  of  them,  em- 
bedded in  the  magnificent  forest.  Some  of  these 
meadows  are  in  great  part  occupied  by  Veratrum 
alba,  which  here  grows  rank  and  tall,  with  boat- 
shaped  leaves  thirteen  inches  long  and  twelve  inches 
wide,  ribbed  like  those  of  cypripedium.  Columbine 
grows  on  the  drier  margins  with  tall  larkspurs  and 
lupines  waist-deep  in  grasses  and  sedges;  several 
species  of  castilleia  also  make  a  bright  show  in  beds 
of  blue  and  white  violets  and  daisies.  But  the  glory 
of  these  forest  meadows  is  a  lily  —  L.  parvum. 
The  flowers  are  orange-colored  and  quite  small,  the 
smallest  I  ever  saw  of  the  true  lilies  ;  but  it  is  showy 
nevertheless,  for  it  is  seven  to  eight  feet  high  and 
waves  magnificent  racemes  of  ten  to  twenty  flowers 
or  more  over  one's  head,  while  it  stands  out  in  the 
open  ground  with  just  enough  of  grass  and  other 
plants  about  it  to  make  a  fringe  for  its  feet  and 
show  it  off  to  best  advantage. 

A  dry  spot  a  little  way  back  from  the  margin 
of  a  Silver  Fir  lily  garden  makes  a  glorious  camp- 
ground, especially  where  the  slope  is  toward  the  east 
and  opens  a  view  of  the  distant  peaks  along  the 
summit  of  the  range.  The  tall  lilies  are  brought 
forward  in  all  their  glory  by  the  light  of  your  blaz- 
ing camp-fire,  relieved  against  the  outer  darkness, 


THE   FORESTS  179 

and  the  nearest  of  the  trees  with  their  whorled 
branches  tower  above  yon  like  larger  lilies,  and  the 
sky  seen  through  the  garden  opening  seems  one  vast 
meadow  of  white  lily  stars. 

In  the  morning  everything  is  joyous  and  bright, 
the  delicious  purple  of  the  dawn  changes  softly  to 
daffodil  yellow  and  white;  while  the  sunbeams 
pouring  through  the  passes  between  the  peaks  give 
a  margin  of  gold  to  each  of  them.  Then  the  spires 
of  the  firs  in  the  hollows  of  the  middle  region  catch 
the  glow,  and  your  camp  grove  is  filled  with  light. 
The  birds  begin  to  stir,  seeking  sunny  branches  on 
the  edge  of  the  meadow  for  sun-baths  after  the  cold 
night,  and  looking  for  their  breakfasts,  every  one  of 
them  as  fresh  as  a  lily  and  as  charmingly  arrayed. 
Innumerable  insects  begin  to  dance,  the  deer  with- 
draw from  the  open  glades  and  ridge-tops  to  their 
leafy  hiding-places  in  the  chaparral,  the  flowers  open 
and  straighten  their  petals  as  the  dew  vanishes, 
every  pulse  beats  high,  every  life-cell  rejoices,  the 
very  rocks  seem  to  tingle  with  life,  and  God  is  felt 
brooding  over  everything  great  and  small. 


BIG   TREE 
(Sequoia  gigantea) 

Between  the  heavy  pine  and  Silver  Fir  belts  we 
find  the  Big  Tree,  the  king  of  all  the  conifers  in  the 
world,  "  the  noblest  of  a  noble  race."  It  extends  in 
a  widely  interrupted  belt  from  a  small  grove  on  the 
middle  fork  of  the  American  River  to  the  head 
of  Deer  Creek,  a  distance  of  about  260  miles,  the 


180  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

northern  limit  being  near  the  thirty-ninth  parallel, 
the  southern  a  little  below  the  thirty-sixth,  and  the 
elevation  of  the  belt  above  the  sea  varies  from  about 
5000  to  8000  feet.  From  the  American  River  grove 
to  the  forest  on  King's  River  the  species  occurs  only 
in  small  isolated  groups  so  sparsely  distributed 
along  the  belt  that  three  of  the  gaps  in  it  are  from 
forty  to  sixty  miles  wide.  But  from  King's  River 
southward  the  Sequoia  is  not  restricted  to  mere 
groves,  but  extends  across  the  broad  rugged  basins 
of  the  Kaweah  and  Tule  rivers  in  noble  forests,  a 
distance  of  nearly  seventy  miles,  the  continuity  of 
this  part  of  the  belt  being  broken  only  by  deep 
canons.  The  Fresno,  the  largest  of  the  northern 
groves,  occupies  an  area  of  three  or  four  square 
miles,  a  short  distance  to  the  southward  of  the  fa- 
mous  Mariposa  Grove.  Along  the  beveled  rim  of 
the  canon  of  the  south  fork  of  King's  River  there  is 
a  majestic  forest  of  Sequoia  about  six  miles  long 
by  two  wide.  This  is  the  northernmost  assemblage 
of  Big  Trees  that  may  fairly  be  called  a  forest. 
Descending  the  precipitous  divide  between  the 
King's  River  and  Kaweah  you  enter  the  grand  for- 
ests that  form  the  main  continuous  portion  of  the 
belt.  Advancing  southward  the  giants  become 
more  and  more  irrepressibly  exuberant,  heaving 
their  massive  crowns  into  the  sky  from  every  ridge 
and  slope,  and  waving  onward  in  graceful  com- 
pliance with  the  complicated  topography  of  the  re- 
gion. The  finest  of  the  Kaweah  section  of  the  belt 
is  on  the  broad  ridge  between  Marble  Creek  and  the 
middle  fork,  and  extends  from  the  granite  head- 
lands overlooking  the  hot  plains  to  within  a  few 


SEQUOIA   GIGANTEA— VIEW   IN    GENERAL   GRANT    NATIONAL    PARK. 


THE  FORESTS  181 

miles  of  the  cool  glacial  fountains  of  the  summit 
peaks.  The  extreme  upper  limit  of  the  belt  is 
reached  between  the  middle  and  south  forks  of  the 
Kaweah  at  an  elevation  of  8400  feet.  But  the  finest 
block  of  Big  Tree  forest  in  the  entire  belt  is  on  the 
north  t'oik  of  Tule  River.  In  the  northern  groves 
there  are  comparatively  few  young  trees  or  saplings. 
But  here  for  every  old,  storm-stricken  giant  there 
are  many  in  all  the  glory  of  prime  vigor,  and  for 
each  of  these  a  crowd  of  eager,  hopeful  young  trees 
and  saplings  growing  heartily  on  moraines,  rocky 
ledges,  along  watercourses,  and  in  the  moist  al- 
luvium of  meadows,  seemingly  in  hot  pursuit  of 
eternal  life. 

But  though  the  area  occupied  by  the  species  in- 
creases so  much  from  north  to  south  there  is  no 
marked  increase  in  the  size  of  the  trees.  A  height 
of  275  feet  and  a  diameter  near  the  ground  of  about 
20  feet  is  perhaps  about  the  average  size  of  full- 
grown  trees  favorably  situated ;  specimens  25  feet 
in  diameter  are  not  very  rare,  and  a  few  are  nearly 
300  feet  high.  In  the  Calaveras  Grove  there  are 
four  trees  over  300  feet  in  height,  the  tallest  of 
which  by  careful  measurement  is  325  feet.  The 
largest  I  have  yet  met  in  the  course  of  my  explora- 
tions is  a  majestic  old  scarred  monument  in  the 
King's  River  forest.  It  is  •'!">  feet  8  inches  in  diame- 
ter inside  the  bark  four  feet  from  the  ground.  Un- 
der the  most  favorable  conditions  these  giants 
probably  live  5000  years  or  more,  though  few  of 
even  the  larger  trees  are  more  than  half  as  old. 
I  never  saw  a  Big  Tree  that  had  died  ;i  natural 
death ;  barring  accidents  they  seem  to  be  immortal, 


182  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

being  exempt  from  all  the  diseases  that  afflict  and 
kill  other  trees.  Unless  destroyed  by  man,  they 
live  on  indefinitely  until  burned,  smashed  by  light- 
ning, or  cast  down  by  storms,  or  by  the  giving  way 
of  the  ground  on  which  they  stand.  The  age  of 
one  that  was  felled  in  the  Calaveras  Grove,  for  the 
sake  of  having  its  stump  for  a  dancing-floor,  was 
about  1300  years,  and  its  diameter,  measured 
across  the  stump,  24  feet  inside  the  bark.  Another 
that  was  cut  down  in  the  King's  River  forest  was 
about  the  same  size,  but  nearly  a  thousand  years 
older  (2200  years),  though  not  a  very  old-looking 
tree.  It  was  felled  to  procure  a  section  for  exhibi- 
tion, and  thus  an  opportunity  was  given  to  count 
its  annual  rings  of  growth.  The  colossal  scarred 
monument  in  the  King's  River  forest  mentioned 
above  is  burned  half  through,  and  I  spent  a  day 
in  making  an  estimate  of  its  age,  clearing  away  the 
charred  surface  with  an  ax  and  carefully  counting 
the  annual  rings  with  the  aid  of  a  pocket-lens. 
The  wood-rings  in  the  section  I  laid  bare  were  so 
involved  and  contorted  in  some  places  that  I  was 
not  able  to  determine  its  age  exactly,  but  I  counted 
over  4000  rings,  which  showed  that  this  tree  was  in 
its  prime,  swaying  in  the  Sierra  winds,  when  Christ 
walked  the  earth.  No  other  tree  in  the  world, 
as  far  as  I  know,  has  looked  down  on  so  many  cen- 
turies as  the  Sequoia,  or  opens  such  impressive 
and  suggestive  views  into  history. 

So  exquisitely  harmonious  and  finely  balanced 
are  even  the  very  mightiest  of  these  monarchs  of 
the  woods  in  all  their  proportions  and  circumstances 
there  never  is  anything  overgrown  or  monstrous- 


THE   FORESTS  183 

looking  about  them.  On  coining  in  sight  of  them 
for  the  first  time,  you  are  likely  to  say,  "Oh,  see 
what  beautiful,  noble-looking  trees  are  towering 
there  among  the  firs  and  pines!" — their  grandeur 
being  in  the  mean  time  in  great  part  invisible,  but 
to  the  living  eye  it  will  be  manifested  sooner  or 
later,  stealing  slowly  on  the  senses,  like  the  gran- 
deur of  Niagara,  or  the  lofty  Yosemite  domes.  Their 
great  size  is  hidden  from  the  inexperienced  observer 
as  long  as  they  are  seen  at  a  distance  in  one  harmo- 
nious view.  When,  however,  you  approach  them 
and  walk  round  them,  you  begin  to  wonder  at  their 
colossal  size  and  seek  a  measuring-rod.  These 
giants  bulge  considerably  at  the  base,  but  not  more 
than  is  required  for  beauty  and  safety;  and  the 
only  reason  that  this  bulging  seems  in  some  cases 
excessive  is  that  only  a  comparatively  small  section 
of  the  shaft  is  seen  at  once  in  near  views.  One 
that  I  measured  in  the  King's  River  forest  was  25 
feet  in  diameter  at  the  ground,  and  10  feet  in 
diameter  200  feet  above  the  ground,  showing  that 
the  taper  of  the  trunk  as  a  whole  is  charmingly 
fine.  And  when  you  stand  back  far  enough  to  see 
the  massive  columns  from  the  swelling  instep  to 
the  lofty  summit  dissolving  in  a  dome  of  verdure, 
you  rejoice  in  the  unrivaled  display  of  combined 
grandeur  and  beauty.  About  a  hundred  feet  or 
more  of  the  trunk  is  usually  branchless,  but  its  mas- 
sive simplicity  is  relieved  by  the  bark  furrows, 
which  instead  of  making  an  irregular  network  run 
evenly  parallel,  like  the  fluting  of  an  architectural 
column,  and  to  some  extent  by  tufts  of  slender 
sprays  that  wave   lightly  in  the  winds   and  cast 


184  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

flecks  of  shade,  seeming  to  have  been  pinned  on 
here  and  there  for  the  sake  of  beauty  only.  The 
young  trees  have  slender  simple  branches  down 
to  the  ground,  put  on  with  strict  regularity,  sharply 
aspiring  at  the  top,  horizontal  about  half-way  down, 
and  drooping  in  handsome  curves  at  the  base.  By 
the  time  the  sapling  is  five  or  six  hundred  years  old 
this  spiry,  feathery,  juvenile  habit  merges  into  the 
firm,  rounded  dome  form  of  middle  age,  which  in 
turn  takes  on  the  eccentric  picturesqueness  of  old 
age.  No  other  tree  in  the  Sierra  forest  has  foliage 
so  densely  massed  or  presents  outlines  so  firmly 
drawn  and  so  steadily  subordinate  to  a  special  type. 
A  knotty  ungovernable-looking  branch  five  to  eight 
feet  thick  may  be  seen  pushing  out  abruptly  from 
the  smooth  trunk,  as  if  sure  to  throw  the  regular 
curve  into  confusion,  but  as  soon  as  the  general 
outline  is  reached  it  stops  short  and  dissolves  in 
spreading  bosses  of  law-abiding  sprays,  just  as  if 
every  tree  were  growing  beneath  some  huge,  invisi- 
ble bell-glass,  against  whose  sides  every  branch  was 
being  pressed  and  molded,  yet  somehow  indulging 
in  so  many  small  departures  from  the  regular  form 
that  there  is  still  an  appearance  of  freedom. 

The  foliage  of  the  saplings  is  dark  bluish-green 
in  color,  while  the  older  trees  ripen  to  a  warm 
brownish-yellow  tint  like  Libocedrus.  The  bark  is 
rich  cinnamon-brown,  purplish  in  young  trees  and 
in  shady  portions  of  the  old,  while  the  ground  is 
covered  with  brown  leaves  and  burs  forming  color- 
masses  of  extraordinary  richness,  not  to  mention  the 
flowers  and  underbrush  that  rejoice  about  them  in 
their  seasons.     Walk  the  Sequoia  woods  at  any  time 


THE   FOKESTS  185 

of  year  and  you  will  say  they  are  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  majestic  on  earth.  Beautiful  and  impressive 
contrasts  meet  you  everywhere:  the  colors  of  tree 
and  flower,  rock  and  sky,  light  and  shade,  strength 
and  frailty,  endurance  and  evanescence,  tangles  of 
supple  hazel-bushes,  tree-pillars  about  as  rigid  as 
granite  domes,  roses  and  violets,  the  smallest  of  their 
kind,  blooming  around  the  feet  of  the  giants,  and 
rugs  of  the  lowly  chamaebatia  where  the  sunbeams 
fall.  Then  in  winter  the  trees  themselves  break 
forth  in  bloom,  myriads  of  small  four-sided  stai in- 
nate cones  crowd  the  ends  of  the  slender  sprays, 
coloring  the  whole  tree,  and  when  ripe  dusting  the 
air  and  the  ground  with  golden  pollen.  The  fertile 
cones  are  bright  grass-green,  measuring  about  two 
inches  in  length  by  one  and  a  half  in  thickness, 
and  are  made  up  of  about  forty  firm  rhomboidal 
scales  densely  packed,  with  from  five  to  eight  seeds 
at  the  base  of  each.  A  single  cone,  therefore,  eon- 
tains  from  two  to  three  hundred  seeds,  which  are 
about  a  fourth  of  an  inch  long  by  three  sixteenths 
wide,  including  a  thin,  flat  margin  that  makes  tlieni 
go  glancing  and  wavering  in  their  fall  like  a  box's 
kite.  The f ruitfulness of  Sequoia  may  be  illustrated 
by  two  specimen  branches  one  and  a  half  and  two 
inches  in  diameter  on  which  I  counted  480  cones. 
No  other  Sierra  conifer  produces  nearly  so  many 
seeds.  Millions  are  ripened  annually  by  a  single 
tree,  and  in  a  fruitful  year  the  product  of  one  of  the 
northern  groves  would  be  enough  to  plant  all  the 
mountain-ranges  of  the  world.  Nature  takes  care, 
however,  that  not  one  seed  in  a  million  shall  germi- 
nate at  all,  and  of  those  that  do  perhaps  not  one 


186  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

in  ten  thousand  is  suffered  to  live  through  the  many- 
vicissitudes  of  storm,  drought,  fire,  and  snow-crush- 
ing that  beset  their  youth. 

The  Douglas  squirrel  is  the  happy  harvester  of 
most  of  the  Sequoia  cones.  Out  of  every  hundred 
perhaps  ninety  fall  to  his  share,  and  unless  cut  off 
by  his  ivory  sickle  they  shake  out  their  seeds  and 
remain  on  the  tree  for  many  years.  Watching  the 
squirrels  at  their  harvest  work  in  the  Indian  sum- 
mer is  one  of  the  most  delightful  diversions  imagin- 
able. The  woods  are  calm  and  the  ripe  colors  are 
blazing  in  all  their  glory ;  the  cone-laden  trees  stand 
motionless  in  the  warm,  hazy  air,  and  you  may  see 
the  crimson-crested  woodcock,  the  prince  of  Sierra 
woodpeckers,  drilling  some  dead  limb  or  fallen  trunk 
with  his  bill,  and  ever  and  anon  filling  the  glens 
with  his  happy  cackle.  The  humming-bird,  too, 
dwells  in  these  noble  woods,  and  may  oftentimes  be 
seen  glancing  among  the  flowers  or  resting  wing- 
weary  on  some  leafless  twig ;  here  also  are  the  fa- 
miliar robin  of  the  orchards,  and  the  brown  and 
grizzly  bears  so  obviously  fitted  for  these  majestic 
solitudes ;  and  the  Douglas  squirrel,  making  more 
hilarious,  exuberant,  vital  stir  than  all  the  bears, 
birds,  and  humming  wings  together. 

As  soon  as  any  accident  happens  to  the  crown  of 
these  Sequoias,  such  as  being  stricken  off  by  light- 
ning or  broken  by  storms,  then  the  branches  be- 
neath the  wound,  no  matter  how  situated,  seem  to 
be  excited  like  a  colony  of  bees  that  have  lost  their 
queen,  and  become  anxious  to  repair  the  damage. 
Limbs  that  have'  grown  outward  for  centuries  at 
right  angles  to  the  trunk  begin  to  turn  upward  to 


THE  FORESTS  187 

assist  in  making  a  new  crown,  each  speedily  assum- 
ing the  special  form  of  true  summits.  Even  in  the 
case  of  mere  stumps,  burned  half  through,  some 
more  ornamental  tuft  will  try  to  goalofl  and  do  its 

best  as  a  leader  in  forming  a  new  head. 

Groups  of  two  or  three  of  these  grand  trees  are 
often  found  standing  close  together,  the  seeds  from 
which  they  sprang  having  probably  grown  on 
ground  cleared  for  their  reception  by  the  fall  of  a 
large  tree  of  a  former  generation.  These  patches  of 
fresh,  mellow  soil  beside  the  upturned  roots  of  the 
fallen  giant  may  be  from  forty  to  sixty  feet  wide, 
and  they  are  speedily  occupied  by  seedlings.  Out 
of  these  seedling-thickets  perhaps  two  or  three  may 
become  trees,  forming  those  close  groups  called 
"  three  graces,"  "  loving  couples,"  etc.  For  even  si  i  p- 
posing  that  the  trees  should  stand  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  apart  while  young,  by  the  time  they  are  full- 
grown  their  trunks  will  touch  and  crowd  against 
each  other  and  even  appear  as  one  in  some  cases. 

It  is  generally  believed  that  this  grand  Sequoia 
was  once  far  more  widely  distributed  over  the 
Sierra ;  but  after  long  and  careful  study  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  never  was,  at  least  since 
the  close  of  the  glacial  period,  because  a  diligent 
search  along  the  margins  of  the  groves,  and  in  the 
gaps  between,  fails  to  reveal  a  single  trace  of  its 
previous  existence  beyond  its  present  bounds.  N  i  >t  - 
withstanding,  I  feel  confident  that  if  every  Sequoia 
in  the  range  were  to  die  to-day,  numerous  monu- 
ments of  their  existence  would  remain,  of  so  imper- 
ishable a  nature  as  to  be  available  for  the  student 
more  than  ten  thousand  years  hence. 


188  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

In  the  first  place  we  might  uotice  that  no  species 
of  coniferous  tree  in  the  range  keeps  its  individuals 
so  well  together  as  Sequoia;  a  mile  is  perhaps  the 
greatest  distance  of  any  straggler  from  the  main 
body,  and  all  of  those  stragglers  that  have  come 
under  my  observation  are  young,  instead  of  old  mon- 
umental trees,  relics  of  a  more  extended  growth. 

Again,  Sequoia  trunks  frequently  endure  for  cen- 
turies after  they  fall.  I  have  a  specimen  block,  cut 
from  a  fallen  trunk,  which  is  hardly  distinguishable 
from  specimens  cut  from  living  trees,  although  the 
old  trunk-fragment  from  which  it  was  derived  has 
lain  in  the  damp  forest  more  than  380  years,  prob- 
ably thrice  as  long.  The  time  measure  in  the  case 
is  simply  this :  when  the  ponderous  trunk  to  which 
the  old  vestige  belonged  fell,  it  sunk  itself  into  the 
ground,  thus  making  a  long,  straight  ditch,  and  in 
the  middle  of  this  ditch  a  Silver  Fir  is  growing  that 
is  now  four  feet  in  diameter  and  380  years  old,  as 
determined  by  cutting  it  half  through  and  count- 
ing the  rings,  thus  demonstrating  that  the  remnant 
of  the  trunk  that  made  the  ditch  has  lain  on  the 
ground  more  than  380  years.  For  it  is  evident  that 
to  find  the  whole  time,  we  must  add  to  the  380 
years  the  time  that  the  vanished  portion  of  the 
trunk  lay  in  the  ditch  before  being  burned  out  of 
the  way,  plus  the  time  that  passed  before  the  seed 
from  which  the  monumental  fir  sprang  fell  into  the 
1  > iv pared  soil  and  took  root.  Now,  because  Sequoia 
trunks  are  never  wholly  consumed  in  one  forest  fire, 
and  those  fires  recur  only  at  considerable  intervals, 
and  because  Sequoia  ditches  after  being  cleared 
are  often  left  implanted  for  centuries,  it  becomes 


THE  FOKESTS  189 

evident  that  the  trunk  remnant  in  question  may 
probably  have  lain  a  thousand  years  or  more.  And 
this  instance  is  by  no  means  a  rare  one. 

But  admitting  that  upon  those  areas  supposed  to 
have  been  once  covered  with  Sequoia  every  tree 
may  have  fallen,  and  every  trunk  may  have  been 
burned  or  buried,  leaving  not  a  remnant,  many  of 
the  ditches  made  by  the  fall  of  the  ponderous 
trunks,  and  the  bowls  made  by  their  upturning 
roots,  would  remain  patent  for  thousands  of  years 
after  the  last  vestige  of  the  trunks  that  made  them 
had  vanished.  Much  of  this  ditch-writing  would 
no  doubt  be  quickly  effaced  by  the  flood-action 
of  overflowing  streams  and  rain- washing ;  but  no 
inconsiderable  portion  would  remain  enduringly 
engraved  on  ridge-tops  beyond  such  destructive 
action;  for,  where  all  the  conditions  arc  favorable, 
it  is  almost  imperishable.  Now  these  historic  (/itches 
and  root  bowls  occur  in  all  the  present  Sequoia  groves 
and  forests,  but  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  not  the 
faintest  vestige  of  one  presents  itself  out  side  of  tin- in. 

We  therefore  conclude  that  the  area  covered  by 
Sequoia  has  not  been  diminished  during  tin;  last 
eight  or  ten  thousand  years,  and  probably  not  at 
all  in  post-glacial  times. 

Is  the  species  verging  to  extinction  ?  What  ore  its 
relations  to  climate,  soil,  and  associated  trees  f 

All  the  phenomena  bearing  on  these  questions 
also  throw  light,  as  we  shall   endeavor   to  show, 

upon  the  peculiar  distribution  of  the  sj ies,  and 

sustain  the  conclusion  already  arrived  ;ii  on  the 
question  of  extension. 

In  the  northern  groups,  as  we  have  seen,  there 


190  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

are  few  young  trees  or  saplings  growing  up  around 
the  failing  old  ones  to  perpetuate  the  race,  and  in 
as  much  as  those  aged  Sequoias,  so  nearly  child- 
less, are  the  only  ones  commonly  known,  the  species, 
to  most  observers,  seems  doomed  to  speedy  extinc- 
tion, as  being  nothing  more  than  an  expiring  rem- 
nant, vanquished  in  the  so-called  struggle  for  life 
by  pines  and  firs  that  have  driven  it  into  its  last 
strongholds  in  moist  glens  where  climate  is  ex- 
ceptionally favorable.  But  the  language  of  the  ma- 
jestic continuous  forests  of  the  south  creates  a  very 
different  impression.  No  tree  of  all  the  forest  is 
more  enduringly  established  in  concordance  with 
climate  and  soil.  It  grows  heartily  everywhere  — 
on  moraines,  rocky  ledges,  along  watercourses,  and 
in  the  deep,  moist  alluvium  of  meadows,  with  a  mul- 
titude of  seedlings  and  saplings  crowding  up  around 
the  aged,  seemingly  abundantly  able  to  maintain 
the  forest  in  prime  vigor.  For  every  old  storm- 
stricken  tree,  there  is  one  or  more  in  all  the  glory  of 
prime ;  and  for  each  of  these  many  young  trees  and 
crowds  of  exuberant  saplings.  So  that  if  all  the 
trees  of  any  section  of  the  main  Sequoia  forest  were 
ranged  together  according  to  age,  a  very  promising 
curve  would  be  presented,  all  the  way  up  from  last 
year's  seedlings  to  giants,  and  with  the  young  and 
middle-aged  portion  of  the  curve  many  times  longer 
than  the  old  portion.  Even  as  far  north  as  the 
Fresno,  I  counted  536  saplings  and  seedlings  grow- 
ing promisingly  upon  a  piece  of  rough  avalanche 
soil  not  exceeding  two  acres  in  area.  This  soil  bed 
is  about  seven  years  old,  and  has  been  seeded  al- 
most simultaneously  by  pines,  firs,  Libocedrus,  and 


MUIR   GORGE,  TUOLUMNE   CANON— TOSEMITB   NATIONAL    PARK. 


THE  FOKESTS  191 

Sequoia,  presenting  a  simple  and  instructive  illus- 
tration of  the  struggle  for  life  among  the  rival 
species;  and  it  was  interest  in. g  to  note  that  the 
conditions  thus  far  affecting  them  have  enabled 
the  young  Sequoias  to  gain  a  marked  advantage. 

In  every  instance  like  the  above  I  have  observed 
that  the  seedling  Sequoia  is  capable  of  growing  on 
both  drier  and  wetter  soil  than  its  rivals,  but  re- 
quires more  sunshine  than  they ;  the  latter  fact  be- 
ing clearly  shown  wherever  a  Sugar  Pine  or  fir  is 
growing  in  close  contact  with  a  Sequoia  of  about 
equal  age  and  size,  and  equally  exposed  to  the  sun; 
the  branches  of  the  latter  in  such  cases  are  always 
less  leafy.  Toward  the  south,  however,  where  the 
Sequoia  becomes  more  exuberant  and  numerous,  the 
rival  trees  become  less  so ;  and  where  they  mix  w  i  1 1 1 
Sequoias,  they  mostly  grow  up  beneath  them,  like 
slender  grasses  among  stalks  of  Indian  corn.  U]  »on 
a  bed  of  sandy  flood-soil  I  counted  ninety-four 
Sequoias,  from  one  to  twelve  feet  high,  on  a  patch 
of  ground  once  occupied  by  four  large  Sugar  Pines 
which  lay  crumbling  beneath  them, —  an  instance  of 
conditions  which  have  enabled  Sequoias  to  crowd 
out  the  pines. 

I  also  noted  eighty-six  vigorous  saplings  upon  a 
piece  of  fresh  ground  prepared  for  their  reception 
by  fire.  Thus  fire,  the  great  destroyer  of  Sequoia, 
also  furnishes  bare  virgin  ground,  one  of  the  con- 
ditions essential  for  its  growth  from  the  seed.  Fr<  >sh 
ground  is,  however,  furnished  in  sufficient  quant  it  ies 
for  the  constant  renewal  of  the  forests  without  fire, 
viz.,  by  the  fall  of  old  trees.  The  soil  is  thus  up- 
turned and  mellowed,  and  many  trees  are  planted 


192  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

for  every  one  that  falls.  Land-slips  and  floods  also 
give  rise  to  bare  virgin  ground  ;  and  a  tree  now  and 
then  owes  its  existence  to  a  burrowing  wolf  or  squir- 
rel, but  the  most  regular  supply  of  fresh  soil  is 
furnished  by  the  fall  of  aged  trees. 

The  climatic  changes  in  progress  in  the  Sierra, 
bearing  on  the  tenure  of  tree  life,  are  entirely  mis- 
apprehended, especially  as  to  the  time  and  the 
means  employed  by  Nature  in  effecting  them.  It 
is  constantly  asserted  in  a  vague  way  that  the 
Sierra  was  vastly  wetter  than  now,  and  that  the  in- 
creasing drought  will  of  itself  extinguish  Sequoia, 
leaving  its  ground  to  other  trees  supposed  capable 
of  flourishing  in  a  drier  climate.  But  that  Sequoia 
can  and  does  grow  on  as  dry  ground  as  any  of  its 
present  rivals,  is  manifest  in  a  thousand  places. 
"Why,  then,"  it  will  be  asked,  "are  Sequoias  always 
found  in  greatest  abundance  in  well-watered  places 
where  streams  are  exceptionally  abundant  f  "  Sim- 
ply because  a  growth  of  Sequoias  creates  those 
streams.  The  thirsty  mountaineer  knows  well  that 
in  every  Sequoia  grove  he  will  find  running  water, 
but  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  water  is  the 
cause  of  the  grove  being  there ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
grove  is  the  cause  of  the  water  being  there.  Drain 
off  the  water  and  the  trees  will  remain,  but  cut  off 
the  trees,  and  the  streams  will  vanish.  Never  was 
cause  more  completely  mistaken  for  effect  than  in 
the  case  of  these  related  phenomena  of  Sequoia 
woods  and  perennial  streams,  and  I  confess  that  at 
first  I  shared  in  the  blunder. 

When  attention  is  called  to  the  method  of  Sequoia 
stream-making,  it   will   be   apprehended   at   once. 


THE  FORESTS  193 

The  roots  of  this  immense  tree  fill  the  ground,  form- 
ing a  thick  sponge  that  absorbs  and  holds  back  the 
rains  and  melting  snows,  only  allowing  them  to 
ooze  and  flow  gently.  Indeed,  every  fallen  Leaf  and 
rootlet,  as  well  as  long  clasping  root,  and  prostrate 
trunk,  may  be  regarded  as  a  dam  hoarding  the 
bounty  of  storm-clouds,  and  dispensing  it  as  bless- 
ings all  through  the  summer,  instead  of  allowing  it 
to  go  headlong  in  short-lived  floods.  Evaporation 
is  also  checked  by  the  dense  foliage  to  a  greater  ex- 
tent than  by  any  other  Sierra  tree,  and  the  air  is 
entangled  in  masses  and  broad  sheets  thai  are 
quickly  saturated ;  while  thirsty  winds  are  not  al- 
lowed to  go  sponging  and  licking  along  the  ground. 

So  great  is  the  retention  of  water  in  many  places 
in  the  main  belt,  that  bogs  and  meadows  are  created 
by  the  killing  of  the  trees.  A  single  trunk  falling 
across  a  stream  in  the  woods  forms  a  dam  200  feet 
long,  and  from  ten  to  thirty  feet  high,  giving  rise 
to  a  pond  which  kills  the  trees  within  its  reach. 
These  dead  trees  fall  in  turn,  thus  making  a  clear- 
ing, while  sediments  gradually  accumulate  chang- 
ing the  pond  into  a  bog,  or  meadow,  for  a  growth 
of  carices  and  sphagnum.  In  some  instances  a  series 
of  small  bogs  or  meadows  rise  above  one  another 
on  a  hillside,  which  are  gradually  merged  into  one 
another,  forming  sloping  bogs,  or  meadows,  which 
make  striking  features  of  Sequoia  woods,  and  since 

all  the  trees  that  have  fallen  into  them  have  1 o 

preserved,  they  contain  records  of  the  generations 
that  have  passed  since  they  began  to  form 

Since,  then,  it  is  a  fact  that  thousands  of  Sequoias 
are  growing  thriftily  on  what  is  termed  dry  ground, 


194  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  even  clinging  like  mountain  pines  to  rifts  in 
granite  precipices;  and  since  it  has  also  been  shown 
that  the  extra  moisture  found  in  connection  with 
the  denser  growths  is  an  effect  of  their  presence, 
instead  of  a  cause  of  their  presence,  then  the  notions 
as  to  the  former  extension  of  the  species  and  its 
near  approach  to  extinction,  based  upon  its  sup- 
posed dependence  on  greater  moisture,  are  seen  to 
be  erroneous. 

The  decrease  in  the  rain-  and  snowfall  since  the 
close  of  the  glacial  period  in  the  Sierra  is  much  less 
than  is  commonly  guessed.  The  highest  post-gla- 
cial watermarks  are  well  preserved  in  all  the  upper 
river  channels,  and  they  are  not  greatly  higher  than 
the  spring  floodmarks  of  the  present ;  showing  con- 
clusively that  no  extraordinary  decrease  has  taken 
place  in  the  volume  of  the  upper  tributaries  of  post- 
glacial Sierra  streams  since  they  came  into  exis- 
tence. But  in  the  mean  time,  eliminating  all  this 
complicated  question  of  climatic  change,  the  plain 
fact  remains  that  the  present  rain-  and  snowfall  is 
abundantly  sufficient  for  the  luxuriant  growth  of  Se- 
quoia forests.  Indeed,  all  my  observations  tend  to 
show  that  in  a  prolonged  drought  the  Sugar  Pines 
and  firs  would  perish  before  the  Sequoia,  not  alone 
because  of  the  greater  longevity  of  individual  trees, 
but  because  the  species  can  endure  more  drought, 
and  make  the  most  of  whatever  moisture  falls. 

Again,  if  the  restriction  and  irregular  distribution 
of  the  species  be  interpreted  as  a  result  of  the  des- 
iccation of  the  range,  then  instead  of  increasing  as 
it  does  in  individuals  toward  the  south  where  the 
rainfall  is  less,  it  should  diminish. 


THE   FORESTS  195 

If,  then,  the  peculiar  distribution  of  Sequoia  has 
not  been  governed  by  superior  conditions  of  soil 
as  to  fertility  or  moisture,  by  what  has  it  been 
governed  ? 

In  the  course  of  my  studies  I  observed  thai  the 
northern  groves,  the  only  ones  I  was  at  first  ac- 
quainted with,  were  located  on  just  those  portions 
of  the  general  forest  soil-belt  that  were  first  Laid 
bare  toward  the  close  of  the  glacial  period  when 
the  ice-sheet  began  to  break  up  into  individual 
glaciers.  And  while  searching  the  wide  basin  of 
the  San  Joaquin,  and  trying  to  account  for  the 
absence  of  Sequoia  where  every  condition  seemed 
favorable  for  its  growth,  it  occurred  to  me  thai  this 
remarkable  gap  in  the  Sequoia  belt  is  located  ex- 
actly in  the  basin  of  the  vast  ancient  mer  de  glace 
of  the  San  Joaquin  and  King's  River  basins,  which 
poured  its  frozen  floods  to  the  plain,  fed  by  the 
snows  that  fell  on  more  than  fifty  miles  of  the 
summit.  I  then  perceived  that  the  next  great  gap 
in  the  belt  to  the  northward,  forty  miles  wide,  ex- 
tending between  the  Calaveras  and  Tuolumne 
groves,  occurs  in  the  basin  of  the  great  ancient  mer 
de  (/lace  of  the  Tuolumne  and  Stanislaus  basins, 
and  that  the  smaller  gap  between  the  Merced  and 
Mariposa  groves  occurs  in  the  basin  of  the  smaller 
glacier  of  the  Merced.  The  /rider  the  ancient  glacier, 
the  wider  the  corresponding  gap  in  the  Sequoia  belt. 

Finally,  pursuing  niy  investigations  across  the 
basins  of  the  Kaweah  and  Tule,  I  discovered  that 
the  Sequoia  belt  attained  its  greatest  development 
just  where,  owing  to  the  topographical  peculiari- 
ties of  the  region,  the  ground  had  been  most  per- 


196  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

fectly  protected  from  the  main  ice-rivers  that  con- 
tinued to  pour  past  from  the  summit  fountains 
long  after  the  smaller  local  glaciers  had  been  melted. 

Taking  now  a  general  view  of  the  belt,  beginning 
at  the  south,  we  see  that  the  majestic  ancient  gla- 
ciers were  shed  off  right  and  left  down  the  valleys 
of  Kern  and  King's  rivers  by  the  lofty  protective 
spurs  outspread  embracingly  above  the  warm  Se- 
quoia-filled basins  of  the  Kaweah  and  Tule.  Then, 
next  northward,  occurs  the  wide  Sequoia-less  chan- 
nel, or  basin,  of  the  ancient  San  Joaquin  and  King's 
River  mer  de  glace ;  then  the  warm,  protected  spots 
of  Fresno  and  Mariposa  groves ;  then  the  Sequoia- 
less  channel  of  the  ancient  Merced  glacier ;  next  the 
warm,  sheltered  ground  of  the  Merced  and  Tuol- 
umne groves ;  then  the  Sequoia-less  channel  of  the 
grand  ancient  mer  de  glace  of  the  Tuolumne  and 
Stanislaus ;  then  the  warm  old  ground  of  the  Cala- 
veras and  Stanislaus  groves.  It  appears,  therefore, 
that  just  where,  at  a  certain  period  in  the  history 
of  the  Sierra,  the  glaciers  were  not,  there  the  Se- 
quoia is,  and  just  where  the  glaciers  were,  there  the 
Sequoia  is  not. 

What  the  other  conditions  may  have  been  that 
enabled  Sequoia  to  establish  itself  upon  these  oldest 
and  warmest  portions  of  the  main  glacial  soil-belt, 
I  cannot  say.  I  might  venture  to  state,  however,  in 
this  connection,  that  since  the  Sequoia  forests  pre- 
sent a  more  and  more  ancient  aspect  as  they  extend 
southward,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  species 
was  distributed  from  the  south,  while  the  Sugar 
Pine,  its  great  rival  in  the  northern  groves,  seems 
to  have  come  around  the  head  of  the  Sacramento 


VIEW   IN   TUOLUMNE   CANON,  lOSEMITE    NATIONAL   PARK. 


THE   FORESTS  1!»7 

valley  and  down  the  Sierra  from  the  north;  conse- 
quently, when  theSierra  soil-beds  were  firsl  thrown 
open  to  preemption  on  the  melting  of  the  ice-sheet, 

the  Sequoia  may  have  established  itself  along  t In- 
available  portions  of  the  south  half  of  the  range 
prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  Sugar  Pine,  while  the 
Sugar  Pine  took  possession  of  the  north  half  prior 
to  the  arrival  of  Sequoia. 

But  however  much  uncertainty  may  attach  to  this 
branch  of  the  question,  there  are  no  obscuring 
shadows  upon  the  grand  general  relationship  we 
have  pointed  out  between  the  present  distribution 
of  Sequoia  and  the  ancient  glaciers  of  the  Sierra. 
And  when  we  bear  in  mind  that  all  the  present  for- 
ests of  the  Sierra  are  young,  growing  on  moraine 
soil  recently  deposited,  and  that  the  flank  of  the 
range  itself,  with  all  its  landscapes,  is  new-born,  re- 
cently sculptured,  and  brought  to  the  Light  of  day 
from  beneath  the  ice  mantle  of  the  glacial  winter, 
then  a  thousand  lawless  mysteries  disappear,  and 
broad  harmonies  take  their  places. 

But  although  all  theobserved  phenomena  bearing 
on  the  post-glacial  history  of  thiseoloss.il  tree  point 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  never  was  more  widely 
distributed  on  the  Siena  since  the  close  of  the 
glacial  epoch;  that  its  present  forests  are  scarcely 
past  prime,  if,  indeed,  they  have  reached  prime; 
that  the  post-glacial  day  of  the  species  is  probably 
not  half  done;  yet,  when  from  a  wider  outlook  the 
vast  antiquity  of  the  genus  is  considered,  and  its  an- 
cient richness  in  species  and  individuals;  compar- 
ing our  Sierra  Giant  and  Sequoia  sempervirens  of 
the  Coast  Range,  the  only  other  living  species  of  Se- 


198  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

quoia,  with  the  twelve  fossil  species  already  discov- 
ered and  described  by  Heer  and  Lesquereux,  some 
of  which  seem  to  have  nourished  over  vast  areas  in 
the  Arctic  regions  and  in  Europe  and  onr  own  ter- 
ritories, during  tertiary  and  cretaceous  times, — then 
indeed  it  becomes  plain  that  our  two  surviving 
species,  restricted  to  narrow  belts  within  the  limits 
of  California,  are  mere  remnants  of  the  genus,  both 
as  to  species  and  individuals,  and  that  they  prob- 
ably are  verging  to  extinction.  But  the  verge  of  a 
period  beginning  in  cretaceous  times  may  have  a 
breadth  of  tens  of  thousands  of  years,  not  to  men- 
tion the  possible  existence  of  conditions  calculated 
to  multiply  and  reextend  both  species  and  individ- 
uals. This,  however,  is  a  branch  of  the  question 
into  which  I  do  not  now  purpose  to  enter. 

In  studying  the  fate  of  our  forest  king,  we  have 
thus  far  considered  the  action  of  purely  natural 
causes  only;  but,  unfortunately,  man  is  in  the 
woods,  and  waste  and  pure  destruction  are  making 
rapid  headway.  If  the  importance  of  forests  were 
at  all  understood,  even  from  an  economic  stand- 
point, their  preservation  would  call  forth  the  most 
watchful  attention  of  government.  Only  of  late 
years  by  means  of  forest  reservations  has  the  simp- 
lest groundwork  for  available  legislation  been  laid, 
while  in  many  of  the  finest  groves  every  species  of 
destruction  is  still  moving  on  with  accelerated 
speed. 

In  the  course  of  my  explorations  I  found  no 
fewer  than  five  mills  located  on  or  near  the  lower 
edge  of  the  Sequoia  belt,  all  of  which  were  cut- 
ting considerable  quantities  of  Big  Tree  lumber. 


THE   FORESTS  1!H) 

Most  of  the  Fresno  group  are  doomed  to  feed  the 
mills  recently  erected  near  them,  and  a  company 
of  lumbermen  are  now  cutting  the  magnificent  for- 
est on  King's  River.  In  these  milling  operations 
waste  far  exceeds  use,  for  after  the  choice  young 
manageable  trees  on  any  given  spot  have  been  felled, 
the  woods  are  fired  to  clear  the  ground  of  limbs  and 
refuse- with  reference  to  further  operations,  and,  of 
course,  most  of  the  seedlings  and  saplings  are  de- 
stroyed. 

These  mill  ravages,  however,  are  small  as  com- 
pared with  the  comprehensive  destruction  caused 
by  "sheepmen."  Incredible  numbers  of  sheep  arc 
driven  to  the  mountain  pastures  every  summer,  and 
their  course  is  ever  marked  by  desolation.  Ev- 
ery wild  garden  is  trodden  down,  the  shrubs  are 
stripped  of  leaves  as  if  devoured  by  locusts,  and  the 
woods  are  burned.  Running  fires  are  set  every- 
where, with  a  view  to  clearing  the  ground  of  pros- 
trate trunks,  to  facilitate  the  movements  of  the 
flocks  and  improve  the  pastures.  The  entire  forest 
belt  is  thus  swept  and  devastated  from  one  ex- 
tremity of  the  range  to  the  other,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  resinous  Pinus  itontorta,  Sequoia 
suffers  most  of  all.  Indians  burn  off  the  underbrush 
in  certain  localities  to  facilitate  deer-hunting,  moun- 
taineers and  lumbermen  carelessly  allow  the  ir  camp- 
fires  to  run;  but  the  fires  of  the  sheepmen,  or 
muttoneers,  form  more  than  ninety  per  cent,  of  .ill 
destructive  fires  that  range  the  Sierra  forests. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  notwithstanding  our 
forest  king  might  live  on  gloriously  in  Nature's 
keeping,  it  is  rapidly  vanishing  before  the  fire  and 


200  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

steel  of  man;  and  unless  protective  measures  be 
speedily  invented  and  applied,  in  a  few  decads,  at 
the  farthest,  all  that  will  be  left  of  Sequoia  gigantea 
will  be  a  few  hacked  and  scarred  monuments. 


TWO-LEAVED,  OR   TAMARACK,  PINE 
(Pinit8  contorta,  var.  Marrayana) 

This  species  forms  the  bulk  of  the  alpine  forests, 
extending  along  the  rang*',  above  the  fir  zone,  up  to 
a  height  of  from  8000  to  9500  feet  above  the  sea, 
growing  in  beautiful  order  upon  moraines  that  are 
scarcely  changed  as  yet  by  post-glacial  weathering. 
Compared  with  the  giants  of  the  lower  zones,  this 
is  a  small  tree,  seldom  attaining  a  height  of  a  hun- 
dred feet.  The  largest  specimen  I  ever  measured 
was  ninety  feet  in  height,  and  a  little  over  six  in 
diameter  four  feet  from  the  ground.  The  average 
height  of  mature  trees  throughout  the  entire  belt  is 
probably  not  far  from  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  with  a  di- 
ameter of  two  feet.  It  is  a  well-proportioned,  rather 
handsome  little  pine,  with  grayish-brown  bark,  and 
crooked,  much-divided  branches,  which  cover  the 
greater  portion  of  the  trunk,  not  so  densel5r,  how- 
ever, as  to  prevent  its  being  seen.  The  lower  limbs 
curve  downward,  gradually  take  a  horizontal  posi- 
tion about  half-way  up  the  trunk,  then  aspire  more 
and  more  toward  the  summit,  thus  forming  a  sharp, 
conical  top.  The  foliage  is  short  and  rigid,  two 
leaves  in  a  fascicle,  arranged  in  comparatively  long, 
cylindrical  tassels  at  the  ends  of  the  tough,  up- 
curving  branchlets.   The  cones  are  about  two  inche? 


THE   FOKESTS  201 

long,  growing  in  stiff  clusters  among  the  needles, 
without  making  any  striking  effect,  except  while 
very  young,  when  they  are  of  a  vivid  crimson  color, 
and  the  whole  tree  appears  to  be  dotted  with  bril- 
liant flowers.  The  sterile  cones  are  still  more 
showy,  on  account  of  their  great  abundance,  often 
giving  a  reddish-yellow  tinge  to  the  whole  mass  of 
the  foliage,  and  filling  the  air  with  pollen. 

No  other  pine  on  the  range  is  so  regularly  planted 
as  this  one.  Moraine  forests  sweep  along  the  sides 
of  the  high,  rocky  valleys  for  miles  without  inter- 
ruption ;  still,  strictly  speaking,  they  are  not  dense, 
for  flecks  of  sunshine  and  flowers  find  their  way 
into  the  darkest  places,  where  the  trees  grow  tallest 
and  thickest.  Tall,  nutritious  grasses  are  specially 
abundant  beneath  them,  growing  over  all  the 
ground,  in  sunshine  and  shade,  over  extensive  areas 
like  a  farmer's  crop,  and  serving  as  pasture  for  the 
multitude  of  sheep  that  are  driven  from  the  arid 
plains  every  summer  as  soon  as  the  snow  is  melted. 

The  Two-leaved  Pine,  more  than  any  other,  is 
subject  to  destruction  by  fire.  The  thin  bark  is 
streaked  and  sprinkled  with  resin,  as  though  it  had 
been  showered  down  upon  it  like  rain,  so  that  even 
the  green  trees  catch  fire  readily,  and  during  strong 
winds  whole  forests  are  destroyed,  the  flames  leap- 
ing from  tree  to  tree,  forming  one  continuous  bell 
of  roaring  fire  that  goes  surging  and  racing  onward 
above  the  bending  woods,  like  the  grass-fires  of  a 
prairie.  During  the  calm,  dry  season  of  Indian 
summer,  the  fire  creeps  quietly  along  the  ground, 
feeding  on  the  dry  needles  and  burs ;  then,  arriving 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  the  resiny  bark  is  ignited,  and 


202  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  heated  air  ascends  in  a  powerful  current,  in- 
creasing in  velocity,  and  dragging  the  flames  swiftly 
upward ;  then  the  leaves  catch  fire,  and  an  immense 
column  of  flame,  beautifully  spired  on  the  edges, 
and  tinted  a  rose-purple  hue,  rushes  aloft  thirty  or 
forty  feet  above  the  top  of  the  tree,  forming  a  grand 
spectacle,  especially  on  a  dark  night.  It  lasts,  how- 
ever, only  a  few  seconds,  vanishing  with  magical 
rapidity,  to  be  succeeded  by  others  along  the  fire- 
line  at  irregular  intervals  for  weeks  at  a  time  —  tree 
after  tree  flashing  and  darkening,  leaving  the  trunks 
and  branches  hardly  scarred.  The  heat,  however, 
is  sufficient  to  kill  the  trees,  and  in  a  few  years  the 
bark  shrivels  and  falls  off.  Belts  miles  in  extent 
are  thus  killed  and  left  standing  with  the  branches 
on,  peeled  and  rigid,  appearing  gray  in  the  distance, 
like  misty  clouds.  Later  the  branches  drop  off, 
leaving  a  forest  of  bleached  spars.  At  length  the 
roots  decay,  and  the  forlorn  trunks  are  blown  down 
during  some  storm,  and  piled  one  upon  another  en- 
cumbering the  ground  until  they  are  consumed  by 
the  next  fire,  and  leave  it  ready  for  a  fresh  crop. 

The  endurance  of  the  species  is  shown  by  its 
wandering  occasionally  out  over  the  lava  plains 
with  the  Yellow  Pine,  and  climbing  moraineless 
mountain-sides  with  the  Dwarf  Pine,  clinging  to 
any  chance  support  in  rifts  and  crevices  of  storm- 
beaten  rocks — always,  however,  showing  the  effects 
of  such  hardships  in  every  feature. 

Down  in  sheltered  lake  hollows,  on  beds  of  rich 
alluvium,  it  varies  so  far  from  the  common  form  as 
frequently  to  be  taken  for  a  distinct  species.  Here 
it  grows  in  d^nse  sods,  like  grasses,  from  forty  to 


THE   FORESTS  203 

eighty  feet  high,  bending  all  together  to  the  breeze 
and  whirling  in  eddying  gusts  more  lithely  than  any 
other  tree  in  the  woods.  I  have  frequently  found 
specimens  fifty  feet  high  less  than  five  inches  in  di- 
ameter. Being  thus  slender,  and  at  t  lie  same  time 
well  clad  with  leafy  boughs,  it  is  oftentimes  bent  to 
the  ground  when  laden  with  soft  snow,  forming 
beautiful  arches  in  endless  variety,  some  of  which 
last  until  the  melting  of  the  snow  in  spring. 


MOUNTAIN   PINE 
(Pinus  monticola) 

The  Mountain  Pine  is  king  of  the  alpine  woods, 
brave,  hardy,  and  long-lived,  towering  grandly  above 
its  companions,  and  becoming  stronger  and  more 
imposing  just  where  other  species  begin  to  crouch 
and  disappear.  At  its  best  it  is  usually  about  ni  n ety 
feet  high  and  five  or  six  in  diameter,  though  a  speci- 
men is  often  met  considerably  larger  than  tins. 
The  trunk  is  as  massive  and  as  suggestive  of  en- 
during strength  as  that  of  an  oak.  About  two  thirds 
of  the  trunk  is  commonly  free  of  limbs,  but  close, 
fringy  tufts  of  sprays  occur  all  the  way  down,  like 
those  which  adorn  the  colossal  shafts  of  Sequoia. 
The  bark  is  deep  reddish-brown  upon  trees  that  oc- 
cupy exposed  situations  near  its  upper  limit,  and 
furrowed  rather  deeply,  the  main  furrows  running 
nearly  parallel  with  each  other,  and  connected  by 
conspicuous  cross  furrows,  which,  with  one  excep- 
tion, are,  as  far  as  I  have  noticed,  peculiar  to  this 
species. 


204  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

The  cones  are  from  four  to  eight  inches  long, 
slender,  cylindrical,  and  somewhat  curved,  resem- 
bling those  of  the  common  White  Pine  of  the  Atlan- 
tic coast.  They  grow  in  clusters  of  about  from  three 
to  six  or  seven,  becoming  pendulous  as  they  increase 
in  weight,  chiefly  by  the  bending  of  the  branches. 

This  species  is  nearly  related  to  the  Sugar  Pine, 
and,  though  not  half  so  tall,  it  constantly  suggests 
its  noble  relative  in  the  way  that  it  extends  its  long 
arms  and  in  general  habit.  The  Mountain  Pine  is 
first  met  on  the  upper  margin  of  the  fir  zone,  grow- 
ing singly  in  a  subdued,  inconspicuous  form,  in 
what  appear  as  chance  situations,  without  making 
much  impression  on  the  general  forest.  Continuing 
up  through  the  Two-leaved  Pines  in  the  same  scat- 
tered growth,  it  begins  to  show  its  character,  and 
at  an  elevation  of  about  10,000  feet  attains  its  no- 
blest development  near  the  middle  of  the  range, 
tossing  its  tough  arms  in  the  frosty  air,  welcoming 
storms  and  feeding  on  them,  and  reaching  the  grand 
old  age  of  1000  years. 


JUNIPEE,   OR  RED   CEDAR 

{Juniperus  occidentalis) 

The  Juniper  is  preeminently  a  rock  tree,  occupy- 
ing the  baldest  domes  and  pavements,  where  there 
is  scarcely  a  handful  of  soil,  at  a  height  of  from 
7000  to  9500  feet.  In  such  situations  the  trunk  is 
frequently  over  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  not 
much  more  in  height.  The  top  is  almost  always 
dead  in  old  trees,  and  great  stubborn  limbs  push 


THE   FORESTS 


205 


out  horizontally  that  are  mostly  broken  and  bare 
at  the  ends,  but  densely  covered  and  emboli  led 
here  and  there  with  bossy  mounds  of  gray  foliage. 
Some  are  mere  weathered  stumps,  as  broad  as  long, 
decorated  with  a  few  leafy  sprays,  reminding  one 
of  the  crumbling  towers  of  some  ancient   castle 


-*&swr -*«•*-. 


fess  :  -. :  ^zi. 


JUSIPER,    OK     RED     CEDAR. 


scantily  draped  with  ivy.  Only  upon  the  head 
waters  of  the  Carson  have  [  found  this  species  es- 
tablished on  good  moraine  soil.  Here  it  nourishes 
with  the  Silver  and  Two-leaved  Pines,  in  greal 
beauty  and  luxuriance,  attaining  a  height  of  from 
forty  to  sixty  feet,  and  manifesting  but  little  of 
that  rocky  angularity  so  characteristic  a  feature 


206  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

throughout  the  greater  portion  of  its  range.  Two 
of  the  largest,  growing  at  the  head  of  Hope  Val- 
ley, measured  twenty-nine  feet  three  inches  and 
twenty-five  feet  six  inches  in  circumference,  re- 
spectively, four  feet  from  the  ground.  The  bark 
is  of  a  bright  cinnamon  color,  and,  in  thrifty 
trees,  beautifully  braided  and  reticulated,  flaking 
off  in  thin,  lustrous  ribbons  that  are  sometimes 
used  by  Indians  for  tent-matting.  Its  fine  color 
and  odd  picturesqueness  always  catch  an  artist's 
eye,  but  to  me  the  Juniper  seems  a  singularly  dull 
and  taciturn  tree,  never  speaking  to  one's  heart.  I 
have  spent  many  a  day  and  night  in  its  company, 
in  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  have  ever  found  it 
silent,  cold,  and  rigid,  like  a  column  of  ice.  Its 
broad  stumpiness,  of  course,  precludes  all  possi- 
bility of  waving,  or  even  shaking;  but  it  is  not 
this  rocky  steadfastness  that  constitutes  its  silence. 
In  calm,  sun-days  the  Sugar  Pine  preaches  the 
grandeur  of  the  mountains  like  an  apostle  without 
moving  a  leaf. 

On  level  rocks  it  dies  standing,  and  wastes  in- 
sensibly out  of  existence  like  granite,  the  wind 
exerting  about  as  little  control  over  it  alive  or  dead 
as  it  does  over  a  glacier  boulder.  Some  are  un- 
doubtedly over  2000  years  old.  All  the  trees  of  the 
alpine  woods  suffer,  more  or  less,  from  avalanches, 
the  Two-leaved  Pine  most  of  all.  Gaps  two  or 
three  hundred  yards  wide,  extending  from  the 
upper  limit  of  the  tree-line  to  the  bottoms  of 
valleys  and  lake  basins,  are  of  common  occur- 
rence in  all  the  upper  forests,  resembling  the  clear- 
ings of  settlers  in  the  old  backwoods.     Scarcely  a 


STORM-BEATEN    JUNIPER 


THE  FORESTS  20*3 

tree  is  spared,  even  the  soil  is  scraped  away,  while 
the  thousands  of  uprooted  pint's  and  spruces  are 
piled  upon  one  another  heads  downward,  and  tucked 
snugly  in  along  the  sides  of  the  clearing  in  two 
windrows,  like  lateral  moraines.  The  pines  lie  wit  h 
branches  wilted  and  drooping  like  weeds.  Not  so 
the  burly  junipers.  After  braving  in  silence  the 
storms  of  perhaps  a  dozen  or  twenty  centuries,  they 
seem  in  this,  their  last  calamity,  to  become  some- 
what communicative,  making  sign  of  a  very  un- 
willing acceptance  of  their  fate,  holding  themselves 
well  up  from  the  ground  on  knees  and  elbows, 
seemingly  ill  at  ease,  and  anxious,  like  stubborn 
wrestlers,  to  rise  again. 


HEMLOCK   SPRUCE 
(Tsuga  Pattoniana) 

The  Hemlock  Spruce  is  the  most  singularly 
beautiful  of  all  the  California  conifersB.  So  slender 
is  its  axis  at  the  top,  that  it  bends  over  and  droops 
like  the  stalk  of  a  nodding  lily.  The  brandies 
droop  also,  and  divide  into  innumerable  slender, 
waving  sprays,  which  are  arranged  in  a  varied, 
eloquent  harmony  that  is  wholly  indescribable.  1 1  s 
cones  are  purple,  and  hang  free,  in  the  form  of 
little  tassels  two  inches  long  from  all  the  sprays 
from  top  to  bottom.  Though  exquisitely  delicate 
and  feminine  in  expression,  it  grows  best  where 
the  snow  lies  deepest,  far  up  in  the  region  of 
storms,  at  an  elevation  of  from  9000  to  9500  feet, 
on  frosty  northern   slopes;  but  it   is   capable  of 


208 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 


growing  considerably 
higher,  say  10,500  feet. 
The  tallest  specimens, 
growing  in  sheltered  hol- 
lows somewhat  beneath 
the  heaviest  wind-cur- 
rents, are  from  eighty  to 
a  hundred  feet  high,  and 
from  two  to  four  feet  in 
dia meter.  The  very  lar- 
gest specimen  I  ever 
found  was  nineteen  feet 
seven  inches  in  circum- 
ference four  feet  from 
the  ground,  growing  on 
the  edge  of  Lake  Hollow,  at  an  elevation  of  9250 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  or  thirty  years  it  becomes  fruitful,  and 
hangs  out  its  beautiful  purple  cones  at  the  ends 
of  the  slender  sprays,  where  they  swing  free  in  the 
breeze,  and  contrast  delightfully  with  the  cool  green 
foliage.  They  are  translucent  when  young,  and 
their  beauty  is  delicious.     After  they  are  fully  ripe, 


STORM-BEATEN  HEMLOCK  SPRUCE, 
FORTY  FEET   HIGH. 


THE   FORESTS  l2()*» 

they  spread  their  shell-like  scales  and  allow  the 
brown- winged  seeds  to  fly  in  the  mellow  air,  while 
the  empty  cones  remain  to  beautify  the  tree  until 
the  coming  of  a  fresh  crop. 

The  staminate  cones  of  all  the  coniferae  are  beauti- 
ful, growing  in  bright  clusters,  yellow,  and  rose,  and 
crimson.  Those  of  the  Hemlock  Spruce  are  the 
most  beautiful  of  all,  forming  little  conelets  of  blue 
flowers,  each  on  a  slender  stem. 

Under  all  conditions,  sheltered  or  stormbeaten, 
well-fed  or  ill-fed,  this  tree  is  singularly  graceful  in 
habit.  Even  at  its  highest  limit  upon  expose*  1  ridg<  •- 
tops,  though  compelled  to  crouch  in  dense  thickets, 
huddled  close  together,  as  if  for  mutual  protection, 
it  still  manages  to  throw  out  its  sprays  in  irre- 
pressible loveliness  ;  while  on  well-ground  moraine 
soil  it  develops  a  perfectly  tropical  luxuriance  of 
foliage  and  fruit,  and  is  the  very  loveliest  tree  in 
the  forest ;  poised  in  thin  white  sunshine,  clad  with 
branches  from  head  to  foot,  yet  not  in  the  faintest 
degree  heavy  or  bunchy,  it  towers  in  unassuming 
majesty,  drooping  as  if  unaffected  with  the  aspir- 
ing tendencies  of  its  race,  loving  the  ground  while 
transparently  conscious  of  heaven  and  joyously  re- 
ceptive of  its  blessings,  reaching  out  its  branches  like 
sensitive  tentacles,  feeling  the  light  and  reveling  in 
it.  No  other  of  our  alpine  conifers  so  finely  veils  its 
strength.  Its  delicate  branches  yield  to  the  moun- 
tains' gentlest  breath;  yet  is  it  strong  to  meet  the 
wildest  onsets  of  the  gale,— strong  not  in  resistance, 
but  compliance,  bowing,  snow-laden,  to  the  ground, 
gracefully  accepting  burial  month  after  month  in 
the  darkness  beneath  the  heavy  mantle  of  winter 


210  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

When  the  first  soft  snow  begins  to  fall,  the  flakes 
lodge  in  the  leaves,  weighing  down  the  branches 
against  the  trunk.  Then  the  axis  bends  yet  lower 
and  lower,  until  the  slender  top  touches  the  ground, 
thus  forming  a  fine  ornamental  arch.  The  snow  still 
falls  lavishly,  and  the  whole  tree  is  at  length  buried, 
to  sleep  and  rest  in  its  beautiful  grave  as  though 
dead.  Entire  groves  of  young  trees,  from  ten  to 
forty  feet  high,  are  thus  buried  every  winter  like 
slender  grasses.  But,  like  the  violets  and  daisies 
which  the  heaviest  snows  crush  not,  they  are  safe. 
It  is  as  though  this  were  only  Nature's  method  of 
putting  her  darlings  to  sleep  instead  of  leaving 
them  exposed  to  the  biting  storms  of  winter. 

Thus  warmly  wrapped  they  await  the  summer 
resurrection.  The  snow  becomes  soft  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  freezes  at  night,  making  the  mass  hard 
and  compact,  like  ice,  so  that  during  the  months  of 
April  and  May  you  can  ride  a  horse  over  the  pros- 
trate groves  without  catching  sight  of  a  single  leaf. 
At  length  the  down-pouring  sunshine  sets  them 
free.  First  the  elastic  tops  of  the  arches  begin  to 
appear,  then  one  branch  after  another,  each  spring- 
ing loose  with  a  gentle  rustling  sound,  and  at  length 
the  whole  tree,  with  the  assistance  of  the  winds, 
gradually  unbends  and  rises  and  settles  back  into 
its  place  in  the  warm  air,  as  dry  and  feathery  and 
fresh  as  young  ferns  just  out  of  the  coil. 

Some  of  the  finest  groves  I  have  yet  found  are  on 
the  southern  slopes  of  Lassen's  Butte.  There  are 
also  many  charming  companies  on  the  head  waters 
of  the  Tuolumne,  Merced,  and  San  Joaquin,  and, 
in  general,  the  species  is  so  far  from  being  rare 


THE   FORESTS  211 

that  you  can  scarcely  fail  to  find  groves  of  consider- 
able extent  in  crossing  the  range,  choose  what  pass 
you  may.  The  Mountain  Pine  grows  beside  it,  and 
more  frequently  the  two-leaved  species;  but  there 
are  many  beautiful  groups,  numbering  1000  indi- 
viduals, or  more,  without  a  single  intruder. 

I  wish  I  had  space  to  write  more  of  the  sur- 
passing beauty  of  this  favorite  spruce.  Every  tree- 
lover  is  sure  to  regard  it  with  special  admiration ; 
apathetic  mountaineers,  even,  seeking  only  game  or 
gold,  stop  to  gaze  on  first  meeting  it,  and  mutter  to 
themselves :    "  That  's  a  mighty  pretty  tree,"  some 

of  them  adding,  "  d d  pretty !  "      In    autumn, 

when  its  cones  are  ripe,  the  little  striped  tamias, 
and  the  Douglas  squirrel,  and  the  Clark  crow  make 
a  happy  stir  in  its  groves.  The  deer  love  to  lie 
down  beneath  its  spreading  branches;  bright 
streams  from  the  snow  that  is  always  near  ripple 
through  its  groves,  and  bryanthus  spreads  precious 
carpets  in  its  shade.  But  the  best  words  only  hint 
its  charms.     Come  to  the  mountains  and  see. 


DWARF   PINE 
(Pinus  albieaulis) 

This  species  forms  the  extreme  edge  of  the  timber 
line  throughout  nearly  the  whole  extent  of  the  range 
on  both  flanks.  It  is  first  met  growing  in  company 
with  Pinus  contorta,  var.  Murrayoma,  on  the  upper 
margin  of  the  belt,  as  an  erect  tree  from  fifteen  to 
thirty  feet  high  and  from  one  to  two  feet  in  thick- 
ness; thence  it  goes  straggling  up  the  thinks  of  the 


212 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


summit  peaks,  upon  moraines  or  crumbling  ledges, 
wherever  it  can  obtain  a  foothold,  to  an  elevation 
of  from  10,000  to  12,000  feet,  where  it  dwarfs  to  a 
mass  of  crumpled,  prostrate  branches,  covered  with 
slender,  upright  shoots,  each  tipped  with  a  short, 
close-packed  tassel  of  leaves.    The  bark  is  smooth 


GROUP    OF    ERECT    DWARF    PINES. 


and  purplish,  in  some  places  almost  white.  The 
fertile  cones  grow  in  rigid  clusters  upon  the  upper 
branches,  dark  chocolate  in  color  while  young,  and 
bear  beautiful  pearly  seeds  about  the  size  of  peas, 
most  of  which  are  eaten  by  two  species  of  tamias 
and  the  notable  Clark  crow.     The  staminate  cones 


THE  FORESTS  213 

occur  in  clusters,  about  an  inch  wide,  down  among 
the  leaves,  and,  as  they  arc  colored  bright  rose- 
purple,  they  give  rise  to  a  lively,  flowery  appearance 

little  looked  for  in  such  a  tree. 

Pines  are  commonly  regarded  as  sky-loving  trees 
that  must  necessarily  aspire  or  die.  This  species 
forms  a  marked  exception,  creeping  lowly,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  most  rigorous  demands  of  climate, 
yet  enduring  bravely  to  a  more  advanced  age  than 
many  of  its  lofty  relatives  in  the  sun-lands  bel<>\\ . 
Seen  from  a  distance,  it  would  never  be  taken  for 
a  tree  of  any  kind.  Yonder,  for  example,  is  Cathe- 
dral Peak,  some  three  miles  away,  with  a  scattered 
growth  of  this  pine  creeping  like  mosses  over  the 
roof  and  around  the  beveled  edges  of  the  north 
gable,  nowhere  giving  any  hint  of  an  ascending 
axis.  When  approached  quite  near  it  still  appears 
matted  and  heathy,  and  is  so  low  that  one  expe- 
riences no  great  difficulty  in  walking  over  the  top  of 
it.  Yet  it  is  seldom  absolutely  prostrate,  at  its 
lowest  usually  attaining  a  height  of  three  or  four 
feet,  with  a  main  trunk,  and  branches  outspread 
and  intertangled  above  it,  as  if  in  ascending  they 
had  been  checked  by  a  ceiling,  against  which  they 
had  grown  and  been  compelled  to  spread  horizon- 
tally. The  winter  snow  is  indeed  such  a  ceiling,  last- 
ing half  the  year;  while  the  pressed,  shorn  surface 
is  made  yet  smoother  by  violent  winds,  armed  with 
cutting  sand-grains,  that  beat  down  any  shoot  that 
offers  to  rise  much  above  the  general  level,  and  carve 
the  dead  trunks  and  branches  in  beautiful  patterns. 

During  stormy  nights  I  have  often  camped 
snugly  beneath  the  interlacing  arches  of  this  little 


214 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 


pine.     The  needles,  which  have  accumulated  for 
centuries,  make  fine  beds,  a  fact  well  known  to  other 


mountaineers,  such  as  deer  and  wild  sheep,  who 
paw  out  oval  hollows  and  lie  beneath  the  larger 
trees  in  safe  and  comfortable  concealment. 


THE   FOEESTS  215 

The  longevity  of  this  lowly  dwarf  is  far  greater 
than  would  be  guessed.  Here,  for  example,  is  a 
specimen,  growing  at  an  elevation  of  10,700  feet, 
which  seems  as  though  it  might  be  plucked  up  by 
the  roots,  for  it  is  only  three  and  a  half  inches  in 
diameter,  and  its  topmost  tassel  is  hardly  three  feet 
above  the  ground.  Cutting  it  half  through  and 
counting  the  annual  rings  with  the  aid  of  a  lens, 
we  find  its  age  to  be  no  less  than  255  years.  Here 
is  another  telling  specimen  about  the  same  height, 
426  years  old,  whose  trunk  is  only  six  inches  in 
diameter ;  and  one  of  its  supple  branchlets,  hardly 
an  eighth  of  an  inch  in  diameter  inside  the  bark,  is 
seventy-five  years  old,  and  so  filled  with  oily  balsam, 
and  so  well  seasoned  by  storms,  that  we  may  tie  it 
in  knots  like  a  whip-cord. 


WHITE   PINE 

(Pinus  flexilis) 

This  species  is  widely  distributed  throughout  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  over  all  the  higher  of  the 
many  ranges  of  the  Great  Basin,  between  the  Wah- 
satch  Mountains  and  the  Sierra,  where  it  is  known 
as  White  Pine.  In  the  Sierra  it  is  sparsely  scattered 
along  the  eastern  flank,  from  Bloody  Canon  south- 
ward nearly  to  the  extremity  of  the  range,  opposite 
the  village  of  Lone  Pine,  nowhere  forming  any  ap- 
preciable portion  of  the  general  forest.  From  its 
peculiar  position,  in  loose,  straggling  parties,  it 
seems  to  have  been  derived  from  the  Basin  ranges 
to  the  eastward,  where  it  is  abundant. 


216  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

It  is  a  larger  tree  than  the  Dwarf  Pine.  At  an 
elevation  of  about  9000  feet  above  the  sea,  it  often 
attains  a  height  of  forty  or  fifty  feet,  and  a  diame- 
ter of  from  three  to  five  feet.  The  cones  open  freely 
when  ripe,  and  are  twice  as  large  as  those  of  the 
albicaulis,  and  the  foliage  and  branches  are  more 
open,  having  a  tendency  to  sweep  out  in  free,  wild 
curves,  like  those  of  the  Mountain  Pine,  to  which 
it  is  closely  allied.  It  is  seldom  found  lower  than 
9000  feet  above  sea-level,  but  from  this  elevation 
it  pushes  upward  over  the  roughest  ledges  to  the 
extreme  limit  of  tree-growth,  where,  in  its  dwarfed, 
storm-crushed  condition,  it  is  more  like  the  white- 
barked  species. 

Throughout  Utah  and  Nevada  it  is  one  of  the 
principal  timber-trees,  great  quantities  being  cut 
every  year  for  the  mines.  The  famous  White  Pine 
Mining  District,  White  Pine  City,  and  the  White 
Pine  Mountains  have  derived  their  names  from  it. 


NEEDLE   TINE 

(Finns  aristata) 

This  species  is  restricted  in  the  Sierra  to  the 
southern  portion  of  the  range,  about  the  head  wa- 
ters of  Kings  and  Kern  rivers,  where  it  forms  ex- 
tensive forests,  and  in  some  places  accompanies  the 
Dwarf  Pine  to  the  extreme  limit  of  tree-growth. 

It  is  first  met  at  an  elevation  of  between  9000 
and  10,000  feet,  and  runs  up  to  11,000  without  seem- 
ing to  suffer  greatly  from  the  climate  or  the  lean- 
ness of  the  soil.     It  is  a  much  finer  tree  than  the 


THE   FORESTS 


217 


Dwarf  Pine.  Instead  of  growing  in  clumps  and 
low,  heathy  mats,,  it  manages  in  some  way  to  main- 
tain an  erect  position,  and  usually  stands  single. 
Wherever  the  young  trees  are  at  all  sheltered,  they 
grow  up  straight  and  arrowy,  with  delicately 
tapered  bole,  and  ascending  branches  terminated 


OAK    GROWING    AMONG    YELLOW    PINES. 

with  glossy,  bottle-brush  tassels.  At  middle  age, 
certain  limbs  are  specialized  and  pushed  far  out  for 
the  bearing  of  cones,  after  the  manner  of  the  Sugar 
Pine;  and  in  old  age  these  branches  droop  and  cast 
about  in  every  direction,  giving  rise  to  very  pic- 
turesque effects.  The  trunk  becomes  deep  brown 
and  rough,  like  that  of  the  Mountain  Pine,  while 


218  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  young  cones  are  of  a  strange,  dull,  blackish-blue 
color,  clustered  on  the  upper  branches.  When  ripe 
they  are  from  three  to  four  inches  long,  yellowish 
brown,  resembling  in  every  way  those  of  the  Moun- 
tain Pine.  Excepting  the  Sugar  Pine,  no  tree  on 
the  mountains  is  so  capable  of  individual  expres- 
sion, while  in  grace  of  form  and  movement  it  con- 
stantly reminds  one  of  the  Hemlock  Spruce. 

The  largest  specimen  I  measured  was  a  little 
over  five  feet  in  diameter  and  ninety  feet  in  height, 
but  this  is  more  than  twice  the  ordinary  size. 

This  species  is  common  throughout  the  Rocky 
Mountains  and  most  of  the  short  ranges  of  the 
Great  Basin,  where  it  is  called  the  Fox-tail  Pine, 
from  its  long  dense  leaf -tassels.  On  the  Hot  Creek, 
White  Pine,  and  Golden  Gate  ranges  it  is  quite 
abundant.  About  a  foot  or  eighteen  inches  of  the 
ends  of  the  branches  is  densely  packed  with  stiff 
outstanding  needles  which  radiate  like  an  electric 
fox  or  squirrel's  tail.  The  needles  have  a  glossy 
polish,  and  the  sunshine  sifting  through  them  makes 
them  burn  with  silvery  luster,  while  their  number 
and  elastic  temper  tell  delightfully  in  the  winds. 
This  tree  is  here  still  more  original  and  picturesque 
than  in  the  Sierra,  far  surpassing  not  only  its  com- 
panion conifers  in  this  respect,  but  also  the  most 
noted  of  the  lowland  oaks.  Some  stand  firmly  erect, 
feathered  with  radiant  tassels  down  to  the  ground, 
forming  slender  tapering  towers  of  shining  ver- 
dure ;  others,  with  two  or  three  specialized  branches 
pushed  out  at  right  angles  to  the  trunk  and  densely 
clad  with  tasseled  sprays,  take  the  form  of  beautiful 
ornamental  crosses.    Again  in  the  same  woods  you 


THE   FOKESTS  219 

find  trees  that  are  made  up  of  several  boles  united 
near  the  ground,  spreading  at  the  sides  in  a  plane 
parallel  to  the  axis  of  the  mountain,  with  the  ele- 
gant tassels  hung  in  charming  order  between  them, 
making  a  harp  held  against  the  main  wind  lines 
where  they  are  most  effective  in  playing  the  grand 
storm  harmonies.  And  besides  these  there  are 
many  variable  arching  forms,  alone  or  in  groups, 
with  innumerable  tassels  drooping  beneath  the 
arches  or  radiant  above  them,  and  many  lowly 
giants  of  no  particular  form  that  have  braved  the 
storms  of  a  thousand  years.  But  whether  old  or 
young,  sheltered  or  exposed  to  the  wildest  gales, 
this  tree  is  ever  found  irrepressibly  and  extrava- 
gantly picturesque,  and  offers  a  richer  and  more 
varied  series  of  forms  to  the  artist  than  any  other 
conifer  I  know  of. 


NUT   PINE 
(Pinus  monophylla) 

The  Nut  Pine  covers  or  rather  dots  the  eastern 
flank  of  the  Sierra,  to  which  it  is  mostly  restricted, 
in  grayish, bush-like  patches,  from  the  margin  of  the 
sage-plains  to  an  elevation  of  from  7000  to  8000  feet. 

A  more  contentedly  fruitful  and  unaspiring  coni- 
fer could  not  be  conceived.  All  the  species  we 
have  been  sketching  make  departures  more  or  less 
distant  from  the  typical  spire  form,  but  none  goes 
so  far  as  this.  Without  any  apparent  exigency  of 
climate  or  soil,  it  remains  near  the  ground,  throwing 
out  crooked,  divergent  branches  like  an  orchard 


220  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

apple-tree,  and  seldom  pushes  a  single  shoot  higher 
than  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  above  the  ground. 

The  average  thickness  of  the  trunk  is,  perha]  >s, 
about  ten  or  twelve  inches.  The  leaves  are  mostly 
undivided,  like  round  awls,  instead  of  being  sepa- 
rated, like  those  of  other  pines,  into  twos  and  threes 
and  fives.  The  cones  are  green  while  growing,  and 
are  usually  found  over  all  the  tree,  forming  quite  a 
marked  feature  as  seen  against  the  bluish-gray  foli- 
age. They  are  quite  small,  only  about  two  inches 
in  length,  and  give  no  promise  of  edible  nuts;  but 
when  we  come  to  open  them,  we  find  that  about 
half  the  entire  bulk  of  the  cone  is  made  up  of  sweet, 
nutritious  seeds,  the  kernels  of  which  are  nearly  as 
large  as  those  of  hazel-nuts. 

This  is  undoubtedly  the  most  important  food- 
tree  on  the  Sierra,  and  furnishes  the  Mono,  Carson, 
and  Walker  River  Indians  with  more  and  better 
nuts  than  all  the  other  species  taken  together.  It 
is  the  Indians'  own  tree,  and  many  a  white  man 
have  they  killed  for  cutting  it  down. 

In  its  development  Nature  seems  to  have  aimed 
at  the  formation  of  as  great  a  fruit-bearing  surface 
as  possible.  Being  so  low  and  accessible,  the  cones 
are  readily  beaten  off  with  poles,  and  the  nuts  pro- 
cured by  roasting  them  until  the  scales  open.  In 
bountiful  seasons  a  single  Indian  will  gather  thirty 
or  forty  bushels  of  them  —  a  fine  squirrelish  em* 
ployment. 

Of  all  the  conifers  along  the  eastern  base  of  the 
Sierra,  and  on  all  the  many  mountain  groups  and 
short  ranges  of  the  Great  Basin,  this  foodful  little 
pine  is  the  commonest  tree,  and  the  most  impor- 


THE   FORESTS  221 

tant.  Nearly  every  mountain  is  planted  with  it  to 
a  height  of  from  8000  to  9000  feel  above  the  sea. 
Some  are  covered  from  base  to  summit  by  this  one 
species,  with  only  a  sparse  growth  of  juniper  on 
the  lower  slopes  to  break  the  continuity  of  its  curi- 
ous woods,  which,  though  dark-looking  al  a  dis- 
tance, are  almost  shadeless,  and  have  none  of  the 
damp,  leafy  glens  and  hollows  so  characteristic  of 
other  pine  woods.  Tens  of  thousands  of  acres 
occur  in  continuous  belts.  Indeed,  viewed  compre- 
hensively the  entire  Basin  seems  to  be  pretty  evenly 
divided  into  level  plains  dotted  with  sage-bushes 
and  mountain-chains  covered  with  Nut  Pines.  No 
slope  is  too  rough,  none  too  dry,  for  these  bountiful 
orchards  of  the  red  man. 

The  value  of  this  species  to  Nevada  is  not  easily 
overestimated.  It  furnishes  charcoal  and  timber 
for  the  mines,  and,  with  the  juniper,  supplies  the 
ranches  with  fuel  and  rough  fencing.  In  fruitful 
seasons  the  nut  crop  is  perhaps  greater  than  the 
California  wheat  crop,  which  exerts  so  much  in- 
fluence throughout  the  food  markets  of  the  world. 
When  the  crop  is  ripe,  the  Indians  make  ready  the 
long  beating-poles;  bags,  baskets,  mats,  and  sacks 
are  collected;  the  women  out  at  service  among  the 
settlers,  washing  or  drudging,  assemble  at  the  fam- 
ily huts;  the  men  leave  their  ranch  work;  old  and 
young,  all  are  mounted  on  ponies  and  starl  in  great 
glee  to  the  nut-lands,  forming  curiously  picturesque 
cavalcades;  flaming  scarfs  and  calico  skirts  stream 
loosely  over  the  knotty  ponies,  two  squaws  usually 
astride  of  each,  with  baby  midgets  bandaged  in 
baskets  slung  on  their  backs  or  balanced  on  the 


222  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

saddle-bow ;  while  nut-baskets  and  water-jars  pro- 
ject from  each  side,  and  the  long  beating-poles 
make  angles  in  every  direction.  Arriving  at  some 
well-known  central  point  where  grass  and  water 
are  found,  the  squaws  with  baskets,  the  men  with 
poles  ascend  the  ridges  to  the  laden  trees,  followed 
by  the  children.  Then  the  beating  begins  right 
merrily,  the  burs  fly  in  every  direction,  rolling  down 
the  slopes,  lodging  here  and  there  against  rocks  and 
sage-bushes,  chased  and  gathered  by  the  women 
and  children  with  fine  natural  gladness.  Smoke- 
columns  speedily  mark  the  joyful  scene  of  their 
labors  as  the  roasting-fires  are  kindled,  and,  at 
night,  assembled  in  gay  circles  garrulous  as  jays, 
they  begin  the  first  nut  feast  of  the  season. 

The  nuts  are  about  half  an  inch  long  and  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  pointed  at  the  top, 
round  at  the  base,  light  brown  in  general  color, 
and,  like  many  other  pine  seeds,  handsomely  dotted 
with  purple,  like  birds'  eggs.  The  shells  are  thin 
and  may  be  crushed  between  the  thumb  and  finger. 
The  kernels  are  white,  becoming  brown  by  roasting, 
and  are  sweet  to  every  palate,  being  eaten  by  birds, 
squirrels,  dogs,  horses,  and  men.  Perhaps  less  than 
one  bushel  in  a  thousand  of  the  whole  crop  is  ever 
gathered.  Still,  besides  supplying  their  own  wants, 
in  times  of  plenty  the  Indians  bring  large  quan- 
tities to  market ;  then  they  are  eaten  around  nearly 
every  fireside  in  the  State,  and  are  even  fed  to 
horses  occasionally  instead  of  barley. 

Of  other  trees  growing  on  the  Sierra,  but  form- 
ing a  very  small  part  of  the  general  forest,  we  may 
briefly  notice  the  following : 


THE   FORESTS  223 

( 'I/amcecyparis  Laivsoniana  is  a  magnificent  tree 
in  the  coast  ranges,  but  small  in  the  Sierra,  Jt 
is  found  only  well  to  the  northward  along  the 
banks  of  cool  streams  on  the  upper  Sacramento 
toward  Mount  Shasta.  Only  a  few  trees  of  this 
species,  as  far  as  I  have  seen,  have  as  yet  gained 
a  place  in  the  Sierra  woods.  It  has  evidently 
been  derived  from  the  coast  range  by  way  of  the 
tangle  of  connecting  mountains  at  the  head  of  the 
Sacramento  Valley. 

In  shady  dells  and  on  cool  stream  banks  of  the 
northern  Sierra  we  also  find  the  Yew  (Taxus  bre- 
vifolia). 

The  interesting  Nutmeg  Tree  (Torreya  Califor- 
nica)  is  sparsely  distributed  along  the  western  flank 
of  the  range  at  an  elevation  of  about  4000  feet,  mostly 
in  gulches  and  canons.  It  is  a  small,  prickly  lea  v<  sd, 
glossy  evergreen,  like  a  conifer,  from  twenty  to  fifty 
feet  high,  and  one  to  two  feet  in  diameter.  The 
fruit  resembles  a  green-gage  plum,  and  contains 
one  seed,  about  the  size  of  an  acorn,  and  like  a 
nutmeg,  hence  the  common  name.  The  wood  is 
fine-grained  and  of  a  beautiful,  creamy  yellow 
color  like  box,  sweet-scented  when  dry,  though  the 
green  leaves  emit  a  disagreeable  odor. 

Betula  occidentalism  the  only  birch,  is  a  small, 
slender  tree  restricted  to  the  eastern  flank  of  the 
range  along  stream-sides  below  the  pine-belt,  es- 
pecially in  Owen's  Valley. 

Alder,  Maple,  and  Nuttall's  Flowering  Dogwood 
make  beautiful  bowers  over  swift,  cool  streams  at 
an  elevation  of  from  3000  to  5000  feet,  mixed 
more  or  less  with  willows  and  cotton  wood ;   and 


224  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

above  these  in  lake  basins  the  aspen  forms  fine 
ornamental  groves,  and  lets  its  light  shine  glori- 
ously in  the  autumn  months. 

The  Chestnut  Oak  (Quercus  densiflora)  seems  to 
have  come  from  the  coast  range  around  the  head 
of  the  Sacramento  Valley,  like  the  Chamcecyparis, 
but  as  it  extends  southward  along  the  lower  edge 
of  the  main  pine-belt  it  grows  smaller  until  it 
finally  dwarfs  to  a  mere  chaparral  bush.  In  the 
coast  mountains  it  is  a  fine,  tall,  rather  slender 
tree,  about  from  sixty  to  seventy-five  feet  high, 
growing  with  the  grand  Sequoia  sempervirens,  or 
Redwood.  But  unfortunately  it  is*  too  good  to 
live,  and  is  now  being  rapidly  destroyed  for  tan- 
bark. 

Besides  the  common  Douglas  Oak  and  the  grand 
Quercus  Wislizem  of  the  foot-hills,  and  several 
small  ones  that  make  dense  growths  of  chaparral, 
there  are  two  mountain-oaks  that  grow  with  the 
pines  up  to  an  elevation  of  about  5000  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  greatly  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  yo- 
semite  parks.  These  are  the  Mountain  Live  Oak 
and  the  Kellogg  Oak,  named  in  honor  of  the  ad- 
mirable botanical  pioneer  of  California.  Kellogg's 
Oak  {Quercus  Kelloggii)  is  a  firm,  bright,  beautiful 
tree,  reaching  a  height  of  sixty  feet,  four  to  seven 
feet  in  diameter,  with  wide-spreading  branches, 
and  growing  at  an  elevation  of  from  3000  to  5000 
feet  in  sunny  valleys  and  flats  among  the  ever- 
greens, and  higher  in  a  dwarfed  state.  In  the 
cliff- bound  parks  about  4000  feet  above  the  sea  it  is 
so  abundant  and  effective  it  might  fairly  be  called 
the  Yosemite   Oak.    The  leaves  make    beautiful 


THE   FORESTS  225 

masses  of  purple  in  the  spring,  and  yellow  in  ripe 
autumn;  while  its  acorns  are  eagerly  gathered  by 
Indians,  squirrels,  and  woodpeckers.  The  Mountain 
Live  Oak  (Q.  Chrysolepis)  is  a  tough,  rugged  moun- 
taineer of  a  tree,  growing  bravely  and  attaining 
noble  dimensions  on  the  roughest  earthquake  tal- 
uses  in  deep  canons  and  yosemite  valleys.  The  t  rank 
is  usually  short  dividing  near  the  ground  into  great, 
wide-spreading  limbs,  and  these  again  into  a  multi- 
tude of  slender  sprays,  many  of  them  cord-like  and 
drooping  to  the  ground,  like  those  of  the  Great 
White  Oak  of  the  lowlands  (Q.  lobata).  The  top  of 
the  tree  where  there  is  plenty  of  space  is  broad  and 
bossy,  with  a  dense  covering  of  shining  leaves,  mak- 
ing delightful  canopies,  the  complicated  system  of 
gray,  interlacing,  arching  branches  as  seen  from  be- 
neath being  exceedingly  rich  and  picturesque.  No 
other  tree  that  I  know  dwarfs  so  regularly  and  com- 
pletely as  this  under  changes  of  climate  i\\w  t<> 
changes  in  elevation.  At  the  foot  of  a  canon  4000 
feet  above  the  sea  you  may  find  magnificent  speci- 
mens of  this  oak  fifty  feet  high,  with  craggy,  bulg- 
ing trunks,  five  to  seven  feet  in  diameter,  and  at  the 
head  of  the  canon,  2500  feet  higher,  a  dense,  soft, 
low,  shrubby  growth  of  the  same  species,  while  all 
the  way  up  the  canon  between  these  extremes  of  size 
and  habit  a  perfect  gradation  may  be  traced.  The 
largest  I  have  seen  was  fifty  feet  high,  eight  feet  in 
diameter,  and  about  seventy-five  feet  in  spread. 
The  trunk  was  all  knots  and  buttresses,  gray  like 
granite,  and  about  as  angular  and  irregular  as  the 
boulders  on  which  it  was  growing — a  type  of  stead- 
fast, unwedgeable  strength. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   DOUGLAS   SQUIKEEL 
(Sdurus  Douglasii) 

THE  Douglas  Squirrel  is  by  far  the  most  interest- 
ing and  influential  of  the  California  sciuridse, 
surpassing  every  other  species  in  force  of  character, 
numbers,  and  extent  of  range,  and  in  the  amount  of 
influence  he  brings  to  bear  upon  the  health  and 
distribution  of  the  vast  forests  he  inhabits. 

Go  where  you  will  throughout  the  noble  woods 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  among  the  giant  pines  and 
spruces  of  the  lower  zones,  up  through  the  towering 
Silver  Firs  to  the  storm-bent  thickets  of  the  sum- 
mit peaks,  you  everywhere  find  this  little  squirrel 
the  master-existence.  Though  only  a  few  inches 
long,  so  intense  is  his  fiery  vigor  and  restlessness, 
he  stirs  every  grove  with  wild  life,  and  makes  him- 
self more  important  than  even  the  huge  bears  that 
shuffle  through  the  tangled  underbrush  beneath 
him.  Every  wind  is  fretted  by  his  voice,  almost 
every  bole  and  branch  feels  the  sting  of  his  sharp 
feet.  How  much  the  growth  of  the  trees  is  stimu- 
lated by  this  means  it  is  not  easy  to  learn,  but  his 
action  in  manipulating  their  seeds  is  more  appre- 
ciable. Nature  has  made  him  master  forester  and 
committed  most   of  her   coniferous   crops  to   his 

226 


THE   DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  227 

paws.  Probably  over  fifty  per  cent,  of  aU  the  cones 
ripened  on  the  Sierra  are  cut  off  and  handled  by 
the  Douglas  alone,  and  of  those  of  the  Big  Trees  \  >er- 
haps  ninety  per  cent,  pass  through  his  hands:  the 
greater  portion  is  of  course  stored  away  for  food  to 
last  during  the  winter  and  spring,  but  some  of 
them  are  tucked  separately  into  loosely  covered 
holes,  where  some  of  the  seeds  germinate  and 
become  trees.  But  the  Sierra  is  only  one  of  the 
many  provinces  over  which  he  holds  sway,  for  his 
dominion  extends  over  all  the  Redwood  Belt  of  the 
Coast  Mountains,  and  far  northward  throughout 
the  majestic  forests  of  Oregon,  Washington,  and 
British  Columbia.  I  make  haste  to  mention  these 
facts,  to  show  upon  how  substantial  a  foundation 
the  importance  I  ascribe  to  him  rests. 

The  Douglas  is  closely  allied  to  the  Red  Squirrel 
or  Chickaree  of  the  eastern  woods.  Ours  may  be  a 
lineal  descendant  of  this  species,  distributed  west- 
ward to  the  Pacific  by  way  of  the  Great  Lakes  and 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  thence  southward  along 
our  forested  ranges.  This  view  is  suggested  by  the 
fact  that  our  species  becomes  redder  and  more 
Chickaree-like  in  general,  the  farther  it  is  traced 
back  along  the  course  indicated  above.  But  what- 
ever their  relationship,  and  the  evolutionary  forces 
that  have  acted  upon  them,  the  Douglas  is  now  the 
larger  and  more  beautiful  animal. 

From  the  nose  to  the  root  of  the  tail  he  mea- 
sures about  eight  inches;  and  his  tail,  which  he  so 
effectively  uses  in  interpreting  his  feelings,  is  about 
six  inches  in  length.  He  wears  dark  bluish-gray 
over  the  back  and  half-way  down  the  sides,  bright 


228  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

buff  on  the  belly,  with  a  stripe  of  dark  gray,  nearly 
black,  separating  the  upper  and  under  colors ;  this 
dividing  stripe,  however,  is  not  very  sharply  de- 
fined. He  has  long  black  whiskers,  which  gives 
him  a  rather  fierce  look  when  observed  closely, 
strong  claws,  sharp  as  fish-hooks,  and  the  brightest 
of  bright  eyes,  full  of  telling  speculation. 

A  King's  River  Indian  told  me  that  they  call  him 
"  Pillillooeet,"  which,  rapidly  pronounced  with  the 
first  syllable  heavily  accented,  is  not  unlike  the 
lusty  exclamation  he  utters  on  his  way  up  a  tree 
when  excited.  Most  mountaineers  in  California 
call  him  the  Pine  Squirrel ;  and  when  I  asked  an 
old  trapper  whether  he  knew  our  little  forester,  he 
replied  with  brightening  countenance :  "  Oh,  yes, 
of  course  I  know  him;  everybody  knows  him. 
When  I  'm  huntin'  in  the  woods,  I  often  find  out 
where  the  deer  are  by  his  barkin'  at  'em.  I  call 
'em  Lightnin'  Squirrels,  because  they  're  so  mighty 
quick  and  peert." 

All  the  true  squirrels  are  more  or  less  birdlike  in 
speech  and  movements;  but  the  Douglas  is  preem- 
inently so,  possessing,  as  he  does,  every  attribute 
peculiarly  squirrelish  enthusiastically  concen- 
trated. He  is  the  squirrel  of  squirrels,  flashing 
from  branch  to  branch  of  his  favorite  evergreens 
crisp  and  glossy  and  undiseased  as  a  sunbeam. 
Give  him  wings  and  he  would  outfly  any  bird  in 
the  woods.  His  big  gray  cousin  is  a  looser  animal, 
seemingly  light  enough  to  float  on  the  wind ;  yet 
when  leaping  from  limb  to  limb,  or  out  of  one  tree- 
top  to  another,  he  sometimes  halts  to  gather 
strength,  as  if  making  efforts  concerning  the  up- 


THE  DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  229 

shot  of  which  he  does  not  always  feel  exactly  con- 
fident. But  the  Douglas,  with  his  denser  body, 
leaps  and  glides  in  hidden  strength,  seemingly  as 
independent  of  common  muscles  as  a  mountain 
stream.  He  threads  the  tasseled  branches  of  the 
pines,  stirring  their  needles  like  a  rustling  breeze; 
now  shooting  across  openings  in  arrowy  lines;  aow 
launching  in  curves,  glinting  deftly  from  side  to 
side  in  sudden  zigzags,  and  swirling  in  giddy  Loops 
and  spirals  around  the  knotty  trunks ;  getting  into 
what  seem  to  be  the  most  impossible  situations 
without  sense  of  danger;  now  on  his  haunches, 
now  on  his  head;  yet  ever  graceful,  and  punctuating 
his  most  irrepressible  outbursts  of  energy  with  little 
dots  and  dashes  of  perfect  repose.  He  is,  without 
exception,  the  wildest  animal  I  ever  saw, —  a  fiery, 
sputtering  little  bolt  of  life,  luxuriating  in  quick 
oxygen  and  the  woods'  best  juices.  One  can  hardly 
think  of  such  a  creature  being  dependent,  like  the 
rest  of  us,  on  el  i  mate  and  food.  But,  after  all,  it 
requires  no  long  acquaintance  to  learn  he  is  human, 
for  he  works  for  a  living.  His  busiest  time  is  in  the 
Indian  summer.  Then  he  gathers  burs  and  hazel- 
nuts like  a  plodding  farmer,  working  continuously 
every  day  for  hours;  saying  not  a  word;  cutting 
off  the  ripe  cones  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  as  if  cm- 
ployed  by  the  job,  and  examining  every  branch  in 
regular  order,  as  if  careful  that  not  one  should  es- 
cape him;  then,  descending,  he  stores  them  away 
beneath  logs  and  stumps,  in  anticipation  of  the 
pinching  hunger  days  of  winter.  He  seems  himself 
a  kind  of  coniferous  fruit, —  both  fruit  and  flower. 
The  resiny  essences  of  the  pines  pervade  every 


230  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

pore  of  his  body,  and  eating  his  flesh  is  like  chew- 
ing gnm. 

One  never  tires  of  this  bright  chip  of  nature, — 
this  brave  little  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness, —  of 
observing  his  many  works  and  ways,  and  listening 
to  his  curious  language.  His  musical,  piny  gossip 
is  as  savory  to  the  ear  as  balsam  to  the  palate ; 
and,  though  he  has  not  exactly  the  gift  of  song, 
some  of  his  notes  are  as  sweet  as  those  of  a  linnet 
—  almost  flute-like  in  softness,  while  others  prick 
and  tingle  like  thistles.  He  is  the  mocking-bird  of 
squirrels,  pouring  forth  mixed  chatter  and  song 
like  a  perennial  fountain;  barking  like  a  dog, 
screaming  like  a  hawk,  chirping  like  a  blackbird 
or  a  sparrow;  while  in  bluff,  audacious  noisiness 
he  is  a  very  jay. 

In  descending  the  trunk  of  a  tree  with  the  inten- 
tion of  alighting  on  the  ground,  he  preserves  a 
cautious  silence,  mindful,  perhaps,  of  foxes  and 
wildcats ;  but  while  rocking  safely  at  home  in  the 
pine-tops  there  is  no  end  to  his  capers  and  noise ; 
and  woe  to  the  gray  squirrel  or  chipmunk  that 
ventures  to  set  foot  on  his  favorite  tree !  No 
matter  how  slyly  they  trace  the  furrows  of  the 
bark,  they  are  speedily  discovered,  and  kicked 
down-stairs  with  comic  vehemence,  while  a  torrent 
of  angry  notes  comes  rushing  from  his  whiskered 
lips  that  sounds  remarkably  like  swearing.  He 
will  even  attempt  at  times  to  drive  away  dogs  and 
men,  especially  if  he  has  had  no  previous  know- 
ledge of  them.  Seeing  a  man  for  the  first  time,  he 
approaches  nearer  and  nearer,  until  within  a  few 
feet;    then,  with  an  angry  outburst,  he  makes  a 


THE   DOUGLAS    SQUIRREL 


231 


sudden  rush,  all  teeth  and  eyes,  as  if  about  to  eal 
you  up.  But,  finding  that  the  big,  forked  animal 
does  n't  scare,  he  prudently  beats  a  retreat,  and  sets 
himself  up  to  reconnoiter  on  some  overhanging 
branch,  scrutinizing  every  movement  you  make 
with  ludicrous  solemnity.  Gatl  i  - 
ering courage,  he  ventures  down 
the  trunk  again,  churring  and 
chirping,  and  jerking  nervously 
up  and  down  in  curious  loops, 
eyeing  you  all  the  time,  as  if 
showing  off  and  demanding 
your  admiration.  Finally,  grow- 
ing calmer,  he  settles  down  in 
a  comfortable  posture  on  some 
horizontal  branch  commanding 
a  good  view,  and  beats  time  with 
his  tail  to  a  steady  "Chee-up! 
chee-up  ! "  or,  when  somewhat 
less  excited,  "Pee-ah!"  with  the 
first  syllable  keenly  accented, 
and  the  second  drawn  out  like 
the  scream  of  a  hawk, — repeat- 
ing this  slowly  and  more  em- 
phatically at  first,  then  gradu- 
ally faster,  until  a  rate  of  about  150  words  a  min- 
ute is  reached;  usually  sitting  all  the  time  on  his 
haunches,  with  paws  resting  on  his  breast,  which 
pulses  visibly  with  each  word.  It  is  remarkable, 
too,  that,  though  articulating  distinctly,  lie  keeps 
his  mouth  shut  most  of  the  time,  and  speaks  thr<  mgli 
his  nose.  I  have  occasionally  observed  him  even 
eating  Sequoia  seeds  and  nibbling  a  troublesome 


TRACK    OP    DOUGLAS 
SQUIRREL     ONCE     DOWN 
AND     UP     A     PINE-TREE 
WHEN   SHOWING   OFF   T<> 

A     SPECTATOR. 


232  THE  MOUNTAINS   OP  CALIFORNIA 

flea,  without  ceasing  or  in  any  way  confusing  his 
"  Pee-ah !  pee-ah ! "  for  a  single  moment. 

While  ascending  trees  all  his  claws  come  into 
play,  but  in  descending  the  weight  of  his  body  is 
sustained  chiefly  by  those  of  the  hind  feet ;  still  in 
neither  case  do  his  movements  suggest  effort, 
though  if  you  are  near  enough  you  may  see  the 
bulging  strength  of  his  short,  bear-like  arms,  and 
note  his  sinewy  fists  clinched  in  the  bark. 

Whether  going  up  or  down,  he  carries  his  tail  ex- 
tended at  full  length  in  line  with  his  body,  unless 
it  be  required  for  gestures.  But  while  running 
along  horizontal  limbs  or  fallen  trunks,  it  is  fre- 
quently folded  forward  over  the  back,  with  the  airy 
tip  daintily  upcurled.  In  cool  weather  it  keeps  him 
warm.  Then,  after  he  has  finished  his  meal,  you 
may  see  him  crouched  close  on  some  level  limb  with 
his  tail-robe  neatly  spread  and  reaching  forward  to 
his  ears,  the  electric,  outstanding  hairs  quivering 
in  the  breeze  like  pine-needles.  But  in  wet  or  very 
cold  weather  he  stays  in  his  nest,  and  while  curled 
up  there  his  comforter  is  long  enough  to  come  for- 
ward around  his  nose.  It  is  seldom  so  cold,  how- 
ever, as  to  prevent  his  going  out  to  his  stores  when 
hungry. 

Once  as  I  lay  storm-bound  on  the  upper  edge  of 
the  timber  line  on  Mount  Shasta,  the  thermometer 
nearly  at  zero  and  the  sky  thick  with  driving  snow, 
a  Douglas  came  bravely  out  several  times  from  one 
of  the  lower  hollows  of  a  Dwarf  Pine  near  my  camp, 
faced  the  wind  without  seeming  to  feel  it  much, 
frisked  lightly  about  over  the  mealy  snow,  and  dug 
his  way  down  to  some  hidden  seeds  with  wonder- 


THE   DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  233 

fill  precision,  as  if  to  his  eyes  the  thick  snow- 
covering  were  glass. 

No  other  of  the  Sierra  animals  of  my  acquain- 
tance is  better  fed,  not  even  the  deer,  amid  abun- 
dance of  sweet  herbs  and  shrubs,  or  the  mountain 
sheep,  or  omnivorous  bears.  His  food  consists  of 
grass-seeds,  berries,  hazel-nuts,  chinquapins,  and 
the  nuts  and  seeds  of  all  the  coniferous  trees 
without  exception, —  Pine,  Fir,  Spruce,  Libocedrus, 
Juniper,  and  Sequoia, —  he  is  fond  of  them  all,  and 
they  all  agree  with  him,  green  or  ripe.  No  cone  is 
too  large  for  him  to  manage,  none  so  small  as  to  be 
beneath  his  notice.  The  smaller  ones,  such  as  those 
of  the  Hemlock,  and  the  Douglas  Spruce,  and  the 
Two-leaved  Pine,  he  cuts  off  and  eats  on  a  brand i 
of  the  tree,  without  allowing  them  to  fall ;  begin- 
ning at  the  bottom  of  the  cone  and  cutting  away 
the  scales  to  expose  the  seeds;  not  gnawing  by 
guess,  like  a  bear,  but  turning  them  round  and 
round  in  regular  order,  in  compliance  with  their 
spiral  arrangement. 

When  thus  employed,  his  location  in  the  tree  is 
betrayed  by  a  dribble  of  scales,  shells,  and  seed- 
wings,  and,  every  few  minutes,  by  the  fall  of  the 
stripped  axis  of  the  cone.  Then  of  course  he  is 
ready  for  another,  and  if  you  are  watching  you 
may  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  as  he  glides  silently 
out  to  the  end  of  a  branch  and  see  him  examining 
the  cone-clusters  until  he  finds  one  to  his  mind; 
then,  leaning  over,  pull  back  the  springy  needles 
out  of  his  way,  grasp  the  cone  with  his  paws  to 
prevent  its  falling,  snip  it  off  in  an  incredibly  short 
time,  seize  it  with  jaws  grotesquely  stretched,  and 


234 


THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 


return  to  his  chosen  seat  near  the  trunk.  But 
the  immense  size  of  the  cones  of  the  Sugar  Pine — 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  inches  in  length — and  those 
of  the  Jeffrey  variety  of  the  Yellow  Pine  compel 
him  to  adopt  a  quite  different  method.  He  cuts 
them  off  without  attempting  to  hold  them,  then 
goes  down  and  drags  them  from  where  they  have 
chanced  to  fall  up  to  the  bare,  swelling  ground 
around  the  instep  of  the  tree,  where  he  demol- 
ishes them  in  the  same  methodical  way,  begin- 
ning at  the  bottom  and  following  the  scale-spirals 
to  the  top. 

From  a  single  Sugar  Pine  cone  he  gets  from  two 
to  four  hundred  seeds  about  half  the  size  of  a  hazel- 
nut, so  that  in  a  few 
minutes  he  can  procure 
enough  to  last  a  week.  He 
seems,  however,  to  prefer 
those  of  the  two  Silver 
First  above  all  others ; 
perhaps  because  they  are 
most  easily  obtained,  as 
the  scales  drop  off  when 
ripe  without  needing  to 
be  cut.  Both  species  are 
filled  with  an  exceedingly 
pungent,  aromatic  oil, 
which  spices  all  his  flesh, 
and  is  of  itself  sufficient 
to  account  for  his  lightning  energy. 

You  may  easily  know  this  little  workman  by  his 
chips.  On  sunny  hillsides  around  the  principal 
trees  they  lie  in  big  piles, —  bushels  and  basketf uls 


SEEDS,  WINGS,  AND  SCALE  OP 
SUGAR  PINE.   (NAT.  SIZE.) 


THE  DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  235 

of  them,  all  fresh  and  clean,  making  the  most 
beautiful  kitchen-middens  imaginable.  Tin*  In-own 
and  yellow  scales  and  nut-shells  are  as  abundanl 
and  as  delicately  penciled  and  tinted  as  the  shells 
along  the  sea-shore;  while  the  beautiful  red  and 
purple  seed-wings  mingled  with  them  would  lead 
one  to  fancy  that  innumerable  butterflies  had  there 
met  their  fate. 

He  feasts  on  all  the  species  long  before  they  are 
ripe,  but  is  wise  enough  to  wait  until  they  are  ma- 
tured before  he  gathers  them  into  his  barns.  This 
is  in  October  and  November,  which  with  him  are 
the  two  busiest  months  of  the  year.  All  kinds  of 
burs,  big  and  little,  are  now  cut  off  and  showered 
down  alike,  and  the  ground  is  speedily  covered 
with  them.  A  constant  thudding  and  bumping  is 
kept  up ;  some  of  the  larger  cones  chancing  to  fall 
on  old  logs  make  the  forest  reecho  with  the  sound. 
Other  nut-eaters  less  industrious  know  well  what  is 
going  on,  and  hasten  to  carry  away  the  cones  as 
they  fall.  But  however  busy  the  harvester  may  be, 
he  is  not  slow  to  descry  the  pilferers  below,  and  in- 
stantly leaves  his  work  to  drive  them  away.  The 
little  striped  tamias  is  a  thorn  in  his  flesh,  stealing 
persistently,  punish  him  as  he  may.  The  large 
Gray  Squirrel  gives  trouble  also,  although  the 
Douglas  has  been  accused  of  stealing  from  him. 
Generally,  however,  just  the  opposite  is  the  case. 

The  excellence  of  the  Sierra  evergreens  is  well 
known  to  nurserymen  throughout  the  world,  con- 
sequently there  is  considerable  demand  for  the 
seeds.  The  greater  portion  of  the  supply  has 
hitherto  been  procured  by  chopping  down  the  trees 


236  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

in  the  more  accessible  sections  of  the  forest  along- 
side of  bridle-paths  that  cross  the  range.  Sequoia 
seeds  at  first  brought  from  twenty  to  thirty  dollars 
per  pound,  and  therefore  were  eagerly  sought  after. 
Some  of  the  smaller  fruitful  trees  were  cut  down  in 
the  groves  not  protected  by  government,  especially 
those  of  Fresno  and  King's  River.  Most  of  the  Se- 
quoias, however,  are  of  so  gigantic  a  size  that  the 
seedsmen  have  to  look  for  the  greater  portion  of 
their  supplies  to  the  Douglas,  who  soon  learns  he  is 
no  match  for  these  freebooters.  He  is  wise  enough, 
however,  to  cease  working  the  instant  he  perceives 
them,  and  never  fails  to  embrace  every  opportunity 
to  recover  his  burs  whenever  they  happen  to  be 
stored  in  any  place  accessible  to  him,  and  the  busy 
seedsman  often  finds  on  returning  to  camp  that 
the  little  Douglas  has  exhaustively  spoiled  the 
spoiler.  I  know  one  seed-gatherer  who,  whenever 
he  robs  the  squirrels,  scatters  wheat  or  barley  be- 
neath the  trees  as  conscience-money. 

The  want  of  appreciable  life  remarked  by  so 
many  travelers  in  the  Sierra  forests  is  never  felt 
at  this  time  of  year.  Banish  all  the  humming  in- 
sects and  the  birds  and  quadrupeds,  leaving  only 
Sir  Douglas,  and  the  most  solitary  of  our  so-called 
solitudes  would  still  throb  with  ardent  life.  But 
if  you  should  go  impatiently  even  into  the  most 
populous  of  the  groves  on  purpose  to  meet  him, 
and  walk  about  looking  up  among  the  branches, 
you  would  see  very  little  of  him.  But  lie  down  at 
the  foot  of  one  of  the  trees  and  straightway  he  will 
come.  For,  in  the  midst  of  the  ordinary  forest 
sounds,  the  falling  of  burs,  piping  of  quails,  the 


THE   DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  237 

screaming  of  the  Clark  Crow,  and  the  rustling  of 
deer  and  bears  among  the  chaparral,  he  is  quick 
to  detect  your  strange  footsteps,  and  will  hasten  to 
make  a  good,  close  inspection  of  you  as  soon  as 
you  are  still.  First,  you  may  hear  him  sounding  a 
few  notes  of  curious  inquiry,  but  more  likely  the 
first  intimation  of  his  approach  will  be  the  prickly 
sounds  of  his  feet  as  he  descends  the  tree  overhead, 
just  before  he  makes  his  savage  onrush  to  frighten 
you  and  proclaim  your  presence  to  every  squirrel 
and  bird  in  the  neighborhood.  If  you  remain  per- 
fectly motionless,  he  will  come  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  probably  set  your  flesh  a-tingle  by  frisking 
across  your  body.  Once,  while  I  was  seated  at  the 
foot  of  a  Hemlock  Spruce  in  one  of  the  most  in- 
accessible of  the  San  Joaquin  yosemites  engaged 
in  sketching,  a  reckless  fellow  came  up  behind  me, 
passed  under  my  bended  arm,  and  jumped  on  my 
paper.  And  one  warm  afternoon,  while  an  old  friend 
of  mine  was  reading  out  in  the  shade  of  his  cabin, 
one  of  his  Douglas  neighbors  jumped  from  the 
gable  upon  his  head,  and  then  with  admirable  as- 
surance ran  down  over  his  shoulder  and  on  to  the 
book  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Our  Douglas  enjoys  a  large  social  circle;  for, 
besides  his  numerous  relatives,  Sciunts  fossor,  Ta- 
mias  quadrivitatus,  T.  Townsendii,  Sp&rmophilus 
Beecheyi,  S.  Douglasii,  he  maintains  intimate  rela- 
tions with  the  nut-eating  birds,  particularly  the 
Clark  Crow  (Picicorvus  columbianus)  and  the  nu- 
merous woodpeckers  and  jays.  The  two  spermo- 
philes  are  astonishingly  abundant  in  the  lowlands 
and  lower  foot-hills,  but  more  and  more  sparingly 


238  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

distributed  up  through  the  Douglas  domains, —  sel- 
dom venturing  higher  than  six  or  seven  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  gray  seiurus 
ranges  but  little  higher  than  this.  The  little 
striped  tarnias  alone  is  associated  with  him  every- 
where. In  the  lower  and  middle  zones,  where  they 
all  meet,  they  are  tolerably  harmonious  —  a  happy 
family,  though  very  amusing  skirmishes  may  oc- 
casionally be  witnessed.  Wherever  the  ancient  gla- 
ciers have  spread  forest  soil  there  you  find  our  wee 
hero,  most  abundant  where  depth  of  soil  and  genial 
climate  have  given  rise  to  a  corresponding  luxuri- 
ance in  the  trees,  but  following  every  kind  of 
growth  up  the  curving  moraines  to  the  highest 
glacial  fountains. 

Though  I  cannot  of  course  expect  all  my  readers 
to  sympathize  fully  in  my  admiration  of  this  little 
animal,  few,  I  hope,  will  think  this  sketch  of  his  life 
too  long.  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  here  how  much  he 
has  cheered  my  lonely  wanderings  during  all  the 
years  I  have  been  pursuing  my  studies  in  these  glo- 
rious wilds ;  or  how  much  unmistakable  humanity  I 
have  found  in  him.  Take  this  for  example :  One 
calm,  creamy  Indian  summer  morning,  when  the 
nuts  were  ripe,  I  was  camped  in  the  upper  pine- 
woods  of  the  south  fork  of  the  San  Joaquin,  where 
the  squirrels  seemed  to  be  about  as  plentiful  as  the 
ripe  burs.  They  were  taking  an  early  breakfast 
before  going  to  their  regular  harvest-work.  While 
I  was  busy  with  my  own  breakfast  I  heard  the 
thudding  fall  of  two  or  three  heavy  cones  from  a 
Yellow  Pine  near  me.  I  stole  noiselessly  forward 
within  about  twentv  feet  of  the  base  of  it  to  ob- 


THE   DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  239 

serve.  In  a  few  moments  down  came  the  Douglas. 
The  breakfast-burs  he  had  cut  off  had  rolled  on 
the  gently  sloping  ground  into  a  clump  of  cea- 
nothus  bushes,  but  he  seemed  to  know  exactly 
where  they  were,  for  he  found  them  at  once,  ap- 
parently without  searching  for  them.  They  were 
more  than  twice  as  heavy  as  himself,  but  after 
turning  them  into  the  right  position  for  getting  a 
good  hold  with  his  long  sickle-teeth  he  managed  to 
drag  them  up  to  the  foot  of  the  tree  from  which 
he  had  cut  them,  moving  backward.  Then  seating 
himself  comfortably,  he  held  them  on  end,  bottom 
up,  and  demolished  them  at  his  ease.  A  good  deal 
of  nibbling  had  to  be  done  before  he  got  anything 
to  eat,  because  the  lower  scales  are  barren,  but 
when  he  had  patiently  worked  his  way  up  to  the 
fertile  ones  he  found  two  sweet  nuts  at  the  base  of 
each,  shaped  like  trimmed  hams,  and  spotted  purple 
like  birds'  eggs.  And  notwithstanding  these  cones 
were  dripping  with  soft  balsam,  and  covered  with 
prickles,  and  so  strongly  put  together  that  a  boy 
would  be  puzzled  to  cut  them  open  with  a  jack- 
knife,  he  accomplished  his  meal  with  easy  dignity 
and  cleanliness,  making  less  effort  apparently  than 
a  man  would  in  eating  soft  cookery  from  a  plate. 

Breakfast  done,  I  whistled  a  tune  for  him  before 
he  went  to  work,  curious  to  see  how  he  would  be 
affected  by  it.  He  had  not  seen  me  all  this  while; 
but  the  instant  I  began  to  whistle  he  darted  up 
the  tree  nearest  to  him,  and  came  out  on  a  small 
dead  limb  opposite  me,  and  composed  himself  to 
listen.  I  sang  and  whistled  more  than  a  dozen  airs, 
and  as  the  music  changed  his  eyes  sparkled,  and 


240  THE   MOUNTAINS   OP   CALIFORNIA 

he  turned  his  head  quickly  from  side  to  side,  but 
made  no  other  response.  Other  squirrels,  hearing 
the  strange  sounds,  came  around  on  all  sides,  also 
chipmunks  and  birds.  One  of  the  birds,  a  hand- 
some, speckle-breasted  thrush,  seemed  even  more 
interested  than  the  squirrels.  After  listening  for 
awhile  on  one  of  the  lower  dead  sprays  of  a  pine, 
he  came  swooping  forward  within  a  few  feet  of  my 
face,  and  remained  fluttering  in  the  air  for  half  a 
minute  or  so,  sustaining  himself  with  whirring 
wing-beats,  like  a  humming-bird  in  front  of  a  flower, 
while  I  could  look  into  his  eyes  and  see  his  inno- 
cent wonder. 

By  this  time  my  performance  must  have  lasted 
nearly  half  an  hour.  I  sang  or  whistled  "Bonnie 
Doon,"  "  Lass  o'  Growrie,"  "  O'er  the  Water  to  Char- 
lie," "Bonnie  Woods  o'  Cragie  Lee,"  etc.,  all  of 
which  seemed  to  be  listened  to  with  bright  interest, 
my  first  Douglas  sitting  patiently  through  it  all, 
with  his  telling  eyes  fixed  upon  me  until  I  ven- 
tured to  give  the  "  Old  Hundredth,"  when  he 
screamed  his  Indian  name,  Pillillooeet,  turned  tail, 
and  darted  with  ludicrous  haste  up  the  tree  out  of 
sight,  his  voice  and  actions  in  the  case  leaving  a 
somewhat  profane  impression,  as  if  he  had  said, 
"I  '11  be  hanged  if  you  get  me  to  hear  anything 
so  solemn  and  unpiny."  This  acted  as  a  signal 
for  the  general  dispersal  of  the  whole  hairy 
tribe,  though  the  birds  seemed  willing  to  wait 
further  developments,  music  being  naturally  more 
in  their  line. 

What  there  can  be  in  that  grand  old  church-tune 
that  is  so  offensive  to  birds  and  squirrels  I  can't 


THE  DOUGLAS   SQUIRREL  241 

imagine.  A  year  or  two  after  this  High  Sierra 
concert,  I  was  sitting  one  fine  day  on  a  hill  in  the 
Coast  Range  where  the  common  Ground  Squirrels 
were  abundant.  They  were  very  shy  on  accpunl  of 
being  hunted  so  much;  but  after  I  had  been  silenl 
and  motionless  for  half  an  hour  or  so  they  began  to 
venture  out  of  their  holes  and  to  feed  on  the  seeds 
of  the  grasses  and  thistles  around  me  as  it'  I  were 
no  more  to  be  feared  than  a  tree-stump.  Then  il 
occurred  to  me  that  this  was  a  good  opportunity  to 
find  out  whether  they  also  disliked  "Old  Hun- 
dredth." Therefore  I  began  to  whistle  as  nearly  as 
I  could  remember  the  same  familiar  airs  that  had 
pleased  the  mountaineers  of  the  Sierra.  They  at 
once  stopped  eating,  stood  erect,  and  listened  pa- 
tiently until  I  came  to  "  Old  Hundredth,"  when 
with  ludicrous  haste  every  one  of  them  rushed  to 
their  holes  and  bolted  in,  their  feet  twinkling  in 
the  air  for  a  moment  as  they  vanished. 

No  one  who  makes  the  acquaintance  of  our  for- 
ester will  fail  to  admire  him ;  but  he  is  far  too  self- 
reliant  and  warlike  ever  to  be  taken  for  a  darling. 

How  long  the  life  of  a  Douglas  Squirrel  may  be, 
I  don't  know.  The  young  seem  to  sprout  from 
knot-holes,  perfect  from  the  first,  and  as  enduring 
as  their  own  trees.  It  is  difficult,  indeed,  to  realize 
that  so  condensed  a  piece  of  sun-fire  should  ever 
become  dim  or  die  at  all.  He  is  seldom  killed  by 
hunters,  for  he  is  too  small  to  encourage  much  of 
their  attention,  and  when  pursued  in  settled  regions 
becomes  excessively  shy,  and  keeps  close  in  the 
furrows  of  the  highest  trunks,  many  of  which  are  of 
the  same  color  as  himself.    Indian  boys,  however. 


242  THE   MOUNTAINS    OF    CALIFOENIA 

lie  in  wait  with  unbounded  patience  to  shoot  them 
with  arrows.  In  the  lower  and  middle  zones  a  few 
fall  a  prey  to  rattlesnakes.  Occasionally  he  is  pur- 
sued by  hawks  and  wildcats,  etc.  But,  upon  the 
Avhole,  he  dwells  safely  in  the  deep  bosom  of  the 
woods,  the  most  highly  favored  of  all  his  happy 
tribe.     May  his  tribe  increase  ! 


CHAPTER  X 

A   WIND-STORM   IN   THE   FORESTS 

THE  mountain  winds,  like  the  dew  and  rain, 
sunshine  and  snow,  are  measured  and  bestowed 
with  love  on  the  forests  to  develop  their  strength 
and  beauty.  However  restricted  the  scope  of  other 
forest  influences,  that  of  the  winds  is  universal. 
The  snow  bends  and  trims  the  upper  forests  every 
winter,  the  lightning  strikes  a  single  tree  here  and 
there,  while  avalanches  mow  down  thousands  at  a 
swoop  as  a  gardener  trims  out  a  bed  of  flowers.  But 
the  winds  go  to  every  tree,  fingering  every  leaf 
and  branch  and  furrowed  bole ;  not  one  is  forgotten ; 
the  Mountain  Pine  towering  with  outstretched  arms 
on  the  rugged  buttresses  of  the  icy  peaks,  the  lowliest 
and  most  retiring  tenant  of  the  dells  ;  they  seek  and 
find  them  all,  caressing  them  tenderly,  bending  them 
in  lusty  exercise,  stimulating  their  growth,  plucking 
off  a  leaf  or  limb  as  required,  or  removing  an  entire 
tree  or  grove,  now  whispering  and  cooing  through 
the  branches  like  a  sleepy  child,  now  roaring  like 
the  ocean;  the  winds  blessing  the  forests,  the 
forests  the  winds,  with  ineffable  beauty  and  har- 
mony as  the  sure  result. 

After  one  has  seen  pines  six  feet  in  diameter 
bending  like  grasses  before  a  mountain  gale,  and 


A  WIND-STOKM  IN  THE   FORESTS 


245 


A    WIND-STORM     IX     Till;     CALIFORNIA     FORESTS. 
(AFTER    A    SKETCH    BY    THE    AUTHOR.) 

ever  and  anon  some  giant  falling  with  a  crash  thai 
shakes  the  hills,  it  seems  astonishing  thai  any,  save 
the  lowest  thickset  trees,  could  ever  have  found  a 
period  sufficiently  stormless  to  establish  them- 
selves; or,  once  established,  that   they  should  not, 


246  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

sooner  or  later,  have  been  blown  down.  But  when 
the  storm  is  over,  and  we  behold  the  same  forests 
tranquil  again,  towering  fresh  and  unscathed  in 
erect  majesty,  and  consider  what  centuries  of  storms 
have  fallen  upon  them  since  they  were  first  planted, 
— hail,  to  break  the  tender  seedlings ;  lightning,  to 
scorch  and  shatter;  snow,  winds,  and  avalanches, 
to  crush  and  overwhelm, — while  the  manifest  re- 
sult of  all  this  wild  storm-culture  is  the  glorious 
perfection  we  behold;  then  faith  in  Nature's  for- 
estry is  established,  and  we  cease  to  deplore  the 
violence  of  her  most  destructive  gales,  or  of  any 
other  storm-implement  whatsoever. 

There  are  two  trees  in  the  Sierra  forests  that  are 
never  blown  down,  so  long  as  they  continue  in 
sound  health.  These  are  the  Juniper  and  the 
Dwarf  Pine  of  the  summit  peaks.  Their  stiff, 
crooked  roots  grip  the  storm-beaten  ledges  like 
eagles'  claws,  while  their  lithe,  cord-like  branches 
bend  round  compliantly,  offering  but  slight  holds 
for  winds,  however  violent.  The  other  alpine  coni- 
fers— the  Needle  Pine,  Mountain  Pine,  Two-leaved 
Pine,  and  Hemlock  Spruce  —  are  never  thinned  out 
by  this  agent  to  any  destructive  extent,  on  account 
of  their  admirable  toughness  and  the  closeness  of 
their  growth.  In  general  the  same  is  true  of  the 
giants  of  the  lower  zones.  The  kingly  Sugar  Pine, 
towering  aloft  to  a  height  of  more  than  200  feet, 
offers  a  fine  mark  to  storm-winds;  but  it  is  not 
densely  foliaged,  and  its  long,  horizontal  arms 
swing  round  compliantly  in  the  blast,  like  tresses 
of  green,  fluent  algae  in  a  brook ;  while  the  Silver 
Firs  in  most  places  keep  their  ranks  well  together 


A  WIND-STORM    IN    THE   FORESTS  247 

in  united  strength.  The  Yellow  or  Silver  Pine  is 
more  frequently  overt  un  Lei  1  tlmn  any  other  tree  on 
the  Sierra,  because  its  leaves  and  branches  form 
a  larger  mass  in  proportion  to  its  height,  while 
in  many  places  it  is  planted  sparsely,  leaving  opeD 
lanes  through  which  storms  may  enter  with  full 
force.  Furthermore,  because  it  is  distributed  along 
the  lower  portion  of  the  range,  which  was  the  first 
to  be  left  bare  on  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice-sheet 
at  the  close  of  the  glacial  winter,  the  soil  it  is  grow- 
ing upon  has  been  longer  exposed  to  post-glacial 
weathering,  and  consequently  is  in  a  more  crumb- 
ling, decayed  condition  than  the  fresher  soils 
farther  up  the  range,  and  therefore  offers  a  less 
secure  anchorage  for  the  roots. 

While  exploring  the  forest  zones  of  Mount 
Shasta,  I  discovered  the  path  of  a  hurricane 
strewn  with  thousands  of  pines  of  this  species. 
Great  and  small  had  been  uprooted  or  wrench* '(I 
off  by  sheer  force,  making  a  clean  gap,  like  that 
made  by  a  snow  avalanche.  But  hurricanes  capa- 
ble of  doing  this  class  of  work  are  rare  in  the 
Sierra,  and  when  we  have  explored  the  forests 
from  one  extremity  of  the  range  to  the  other,  we 
are  compelled  to  believe  that  they  are  the  mosl 
beautiful  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  however  we  may 
regard  the  agents  that  have  made  them  so. 

There  is  always  something  deeply  exciting,  not 
only  in  the  sounds  of  winds  in  the  woods,  which  ex.  it 
more  or  less  influence  over  every  mind,  but  in  their 
varied  waterlike  flow  as  manifested  by  the  move- 
ments of  the  trees,  especially  those  of  the  conifers. 
By  no  other  trees  are  they  rendered  so  extensively 


248  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  impressively  visible,  not  even  by  the  lordly 
tropic  palms  or  tree-ferns  responsive  to  the  gent- 
lest breeze.  The  waving  of  a  forest  of  the  giant 
Sequoias  is  indescribably  impressive  and  sublime, 
but  the  pines  seem  to  me  the  best  interpreters  of 
winds.  They  are  mighty  waving  goldenrods,  ever 
in  tune,  singing  and  writing  wind-music  all  their 
long  century  lives.  Little,  however,  of  this  noble 
tree-waving  and  tree-music  will  you  see  or  hear  in 
the  strictly  alpine  portion  of  the  forests.  The  burly 
Juniper,  whose  girth  sometimes  more  than  equals 
its  height,  is  about  as  rigid  as  the  rocks  on  which  it 
grows.  The  slender  lash-like  sprays  of  the  Dwarf 
Pine  stream  out  in  wavering  ripples,  but  the  tallest 
and  slenderest  are  far  too  unyielding  to  wave  even 
in  the  heaviest  gales.  They  only  shake  in  quick, 
short  vibrations.  The  Hemlock  Spruce,  however, 
and  the  Mountain  Pine,  and  some  of  the  tallest 
thickets  of  the  Two-leaved  species  bow  in  storms 
with  considerable  scope  and  gracefulness.  But  it 
is  only  in  the  lower  and  middle  zones  that  the 
meeting  of  winds  and  woods  is  to  be  seen  in  all  its 
grandeur. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  and  exhilarating 
storms  I  ever  enjoyed  in  the  Sierra  occurred  in  De- 
cember, 1874,  when  I  happened  to  be  exploring  one 
of  the  tributary  vaUeys  of  the  Yuba  River.  The 
sky  and  the  ground  and  the  trees  had  been  thor- 
oughly rain-washed  and  were  dry  again.  The  day 
was  intensely  pure,  one  of  those  incomparable  bits 
of  California  winter,  warm  and  balmy  and  full  of 
white  sparkling  sunshine,  redolent  of  all  the  purest 
influences  of  the  spring,  and  at  the  same  time  en- 


A   AVIND-STORM   IN   THE   FORESTS  249 

liveued  with  one  of  the  most  bracing  wind-storms 
conceivable.  Instead  of  camping  out,  as  I  usually 
do,  I  then  chanced  to  be  stopping  at  the  house  of  a 
friend.  But  when  the  storm  began  to  sound,  I  lost 
no  time  in  pushing  out  into  the  woods  to  enjoy  it. 
For  on  such  occasions  Nature  has  always  some- 
thing rare  to  show  us,  and  the  danger  to  life  and 
limb  is  hardly  greater  than  one  would  experience 
crouching  deprecatingly  beneath  a  roof. 

It  was  still  early  morning  when  I  found  my- 
self fairly  adrift.  Delicious  sunshine  came  pour- 
ing over  the  hills,  lighting  the  tops  of  the  pines, 
and  setting  free  a  steam  of  summery  fragrance  that 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  wild  tones  of  the 
storm.  The  air  was  mottled  with  pine-tassels  and 
bright  green  plumes,  that  went  flashing  past  in  the 
sunlight  like  birds  pursued.  But  there  was  not 
the  slightest  dustiness,  nothing  less  pure  than 
leaves,  and  ripe  pollen,  and  flecks  of  withered 
bracken  and  moss.  I  heard  trees  falling  for  hours 
at  the  rate  of  one  every  two  or  three  minutes ; 
some  uprooted,  partly  on  account  of  the  loose,  wa- 
ter-soaked condition  of  the  ground ;  others  broken 
straight  across,  where  some  weakness  caused  by 
fire  had  determined  the  spot.  The  gestures  of  the 
various  trees  made  a  delightful  study.  Young  Su- 
gar Pines,  light  and  feathery  as  squirrel-tails,  were 
bowing  almost  to  the  ground ;  while  the  grand  old 
patriarchs,  whose  massive  boles  had  been  tried  in 
a  hundred  storms,  waved  solemnly  above  them, 
their  long,  arching  branches  streaming  fluently  on 
the  gale,  and  every  needle  thrilling  and  ringing 
and  shedding  off  keen  lances  of  light  like  a  dia- 


250  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

mond.  The  Douglas  Spruces,  with  long  sprays 
drawn  out  in  level  tresses,  and  needles  massed  in  a 
gray,  shimmering  glow,  presented  a  most  striking 
appearance  as  they  stood  in  bold  relief  along  the 
hilltops.  The  madronos  in  the  dells,  with  their 
red  bark  and  large  glossy  leaves  tilted  every 
way,  reflected  the  sunshine  in  throbbing  spangles 
like  those  one  so  often  sees  on  the  rippled  surface 
of  a  glacier  lake.  But  the  Silver  Pines  were  now 
the  most  impressively  beautiful  of  all.  Colossal 
spires  200  feet  in  height  waved  like  supple  golden- 
rods  chanting  and  bowing  low  as  if  in  worship, 
while  the  whole  mass  of  their  long,  tremulous  foli- 
age was  kindled  into  one  continuous  blaze  of  white 
sun-fire.  The  force  of  the  gale  was  such  that  the 
most  steadfast  monarch  of  them  all  rocked  down  to 
its  roots  with  a  motion  plainly  perceptible  when  one 
leaned  against  it.  Nature  was  holding  high  festi- 
val, and  every  fiber  of  the  most  rigid  giants  thrilled 
with  glad  excitement. 

I  drifted  on  through  the  midst  of  this  passionate 
music  and  motion,  across  many  a  glen,  from  ridge 
to  ridge;  often  halting  in  the  lee  of  a  rock  for 
shelter,  or  to  gaze  and  listen.  Even  when  the 
grand  anthem  had  swelled  to  its  highest  pitch,  I 
could  distinctly  hear  the  varying  tones  of  individ- 
ual trees, —  Spruce,  and  Fir,  and  Pine,  and  leafless 
Oak, — and  even  the  infinitely  gentle  rustle  of  the 
withered  grasses  at  my  feet.  Each  was  expressing 
itself  in  its  own  way, —  singing  its  own  song,  and 
making  its  own  peculiar  gestures, — manifesting  a 
richness  of  variety  to  be  found  in  no  other  forest  I 
have  yet  seen.    The  coniferous  woods  of  Canada, 


A  WIND-STORM  IN   THE   FORESTS  253 

and  the  Carolinas,  and  Florida,  are  made  up  of 
trees  that  resemble  one  another  about  as  nearly  as 
blades  of  grass,  and  grow  close  together  in  much 
the  same  way.  Coniferous  trees,  in  general,  sel- 
dom possess  individual  character,  such  as  is  mani- 
fest among  Oaks  and  Elms.  Birt  the  California 
forests  are  made  up  of  a  greater  number  of  distinct 
species  than  any  other  in  the  world.  And  in  them 
we  find,  not  only  a  marked  differentiation  into 
special  groups,  but  also  a  marked  individuality  in 
almost  every  tree,  giving  rise  to  storm  effects  in- 
describably glorious. 

Toward  midday,  after  a  long,  tingling  scramble 
through  copses  of  hazel  and  ceanothus,  I  gained 
the  summit  of  the  highest  ridge  in  the  neighbor- 
hood; and  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be 
a  fine  thing  to  climb  one  of  the  trees  to  obtain  a 
wider  outlook  and  get  my  ear  close  to  the  JEolian 
music  of  its  topmost  needles.  But  under  the  cir- 
cumstances the  choice  of  a  tree  was  a  serious  mat- 
ter. One  whose  instep  was  not  very  strong  seei  ned 
in  danger  of  being  blown  down,  or  of  being  struck 
by  others  in  case  they  should  fall;  another  was 
branchless  to  a  considerable  height  above  the 
ground,  and  at  the  same  time  too  large  to  be 
grasped  with  arms  and  legs  in  climbing;  while 
others  were  not  favorably  situated  for  clear  views. 
After  cautiously  casting  about,  I  made  choice  of 
the  tallest  of  a  group  of  Douglas  Spruces  thai 
were  growing  close  together  like  a  tuft  of  grass,  no 
one  of  which  seemed  likely  to  fall  unless  all  the 
rest  fell  with  it.  Though  comparatively  young, 
they  were  about   100   feet  high,  and  their  lithe, 


252  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

brushy  tops  were  rocking  and  swirling  in  wild  ec- 
stasy. Being  accustomed  to  climb  trees  in  making 
botanical  studies,  I  experienced  no  difficulty  in 
reaching  the  top  of  this  one,  and  never  before  did  I 
enjoy  so  noble  an  exhilaration  of  motion.  The 
slender  tops  fairly  flapped  and  swished  in  the  pas- 
sionate torrent,  bending  and  swirling  backward 
and  forward,  round  and  round,  tracing  indescriba- 
ble combinations  of  vertical  and  horizontal  curves, 
while  I  clung  with  muscles  firm  braced,  like  a  bobo- 
link on  a  reed. 

In  its  widest  sweeps  my  tree-top  described  an 
arc  of  from  twenty  to  thirty  degrees,  but  I  felt 
sure  of  its  elastic  temper,  having  seen  others  of 
the  same  species  still  more  severely  tried — bent 
almost  to  the  ground  indeed,  in  heavy  snows — with- 
out breaking  a  fiber.  I  was  therefore  safe,  and  free 
to  take  the  wind  into  my  pulses  and  enjoy  the  ex- 
cited forest  from  my  superb  outlook.  The  view 
from  here  must  be  extremely  beautiful  in  any 
weather.  Now  my  eye  roved  over  the  piny  hills 
and  dales  as  over  fields  of  waving  grain,  and  felt 
the  light  running  in  ripples  and  broad  swelling  un- 
dulations across  the  valleys  from  ridge  to  ridge,  a& 
the  shining  foliage  was  stirred  by  corresponding 
waves  of  air.  Oftentimes  these  waves  of  reflected 
light  would  break  up  suddenly  into  a  kind  of 
beaten  foam,  and  again,  after  chasing  one  another 
in  regular  order,  they  would  seem  to  bend  forward 
in  concentric  curves,  and  disappear  on  some  hill- 
side, like  sea-waves  on  a  shelving  shore.  The 
quantity  of  light  reflected  from  the  bent  needles 
was  so  great  as  to  make  whole  groves  appear  as  i£ 


YELLOW    PINK    AND    LIBOCEDRCS. 

The  two  inside  trees  are  Libocednis,  t he  two  outside  trees,  Yellow  Pine. 


A   WIND-STORM   IN   THE   FORESTS  253 

covered  with  snow,  while  the  black  shadows  be- 
neath the  trees  greatly  enhanced  the  effect  of  the 
silvery  splendor. 

Excepting  only  the  shadows  there  was  nothing 
somber  in  all  this  wild  sea  of  pines.  On  the  con- 
trary, notwithstanding  this  was  the  winter  season, 
the  colors  were  remarkably  beautiful.  The  shafts 
of  the  pine  and  libocedrus  were  brown  and  purple, 
and  most  of  the  foliage  was  well  tinged  with  yel- 
low; the  laurel  groves,  with  the  pale  undersides 
of  their  leaves  turned  upward,  made  masses  of 
gray;  and  then  there  was  many  a  dash  of  chocolate 
color  from  clumps  of  manzanita,  and  jet  of  vivid 
crimson  from  the  bark  of  the  madronos,  while  the 
ground  on  the  hillsides,  appearing  here  and  there 
through  openings  between  the  groves,  displayed 
masses  of  pale  purple  and  brown. 

The  sounds  of  the  storm  corresponded  gloriously 
with  this  wild  exuberance  of  light  and  motion. 
The  profound  bass  of  the  naked  branches  and 
boles  booming  like  waterfalls;  the  quick,  l«'iis.- 
vibrations  of  the  pine-needles,  now  rising  to  a 
shrill,  whistling  hiss,  now  falling  to  a  silky  mur- 
mur; the  rustling  of  laurel  groves  in  the  dells,  and 
the  keen  metallic  click  of  leaf  on  leaf — all  this  was 
heard  in  easy  analysis  when  the  attention  was 
calmly  bent. 

The  varied  gestures  of  the  multitude  were  seen 
to  fine  advantage,  so  that  one  could  recognize  tin' 
different  species  at  a  distance  of  several  miles  by 
this  means  alone,  as  well  as  by  their  forms  and 
colors,  and  the  way  they  reflected  the  light.  All 
seemed  strong  and  comfortable,  as  if  really  enjoy- 


254  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

ing  the  storm,  while  responding  to  its  most  en- 
thusiastic greetings.  We  hear  much  nowadays 
concerning  the  universal  struggle  for  existence, 
but  no  struggle  in  the  common  meaning  of  the 
word  was  manifest  here ;  no  recognition  of  danger 
by  any  tree ;  no  deprecation ;  but  rather  an  invin- 
cible gladness  as  remote  from  exultation  as  from 
fear. 

I  kept  my  lofty  perch  for  hours,  frequently  clos- 
ing my  eyes  to  enjoy  the  music  by  itself,  or  to 
feast  quietly  on  the  delicious  fragrance  that  was 
streaming  past.  The  fragrance  of  the  woods  was 
less  marked  than  that  produced  during  warm  rain, 
when  so  many  balsamic  buds  and  leaves  are 
steeped  like  tea;  but,  from  the  chafing  of  resiny 
branches  against  each  other,  and  the  incessant 
attrition  of  myriads  of  needles,  the  gale  was  spiced 
to  a  very  tonic  degree.  And  besides  the  fragrance 
from  these  local  sources  there  were  traces  of  scents 
brought  from  afar.  For  this  wind  came  first  from 
the  sea,  rubbing  against  its  fresh,  briny  waves, 
then  distilled  through  the  redwoods,  threading  rich 
ferny  gulches,  and  spreading  itself  in  broad  undu- 
lating currents  over  many  a  flower-enameled  ridge 
of  the  coast  mountains,  then  across  the  golden 
plains,  up  the  purple  foot-hills,  and  into  these  piny 
woods  with  the  varied  incense  gathered  by  the  way. 

Winds  are  advertisements  of  all  they  touch, 
however  much  or  little  we  may  be  able  to  read 
them ;  telling  their  wanderings  even  by  their  scents 
alone.  Mariners  detect  the  flowery  perfume  of 
land-winds  far  at  sea,  and  sea-winds  carry  the  fra- 
grance of  dulse  and  tangle  far  inland,  where  it  is 


A   WIND-STORM   IN   THE   FORKS  I  8  255 

quickly  recognized,  though  mingled  with  the  scents 
of  a  thousand  land-flowers.  As  an  illustration  of 
this,  I  may  toll    here  thai    I    breathed  sea-air  on 

the  Firth  of  Forth,  in  Scotland,  while  a  boy; 
then  was  taken  to  Wisconsin,  where  I  remained 
nineteen  years;  then,  without  in  all  this  time  hav- 
ing breathed  one  breath  of  the  sea,  I  walked 
quietly,  alone,  from  the  middle  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  on  a  botanical  excur- 
sion, and  while  in  Florida,  far  from  the  coast,  my 
attention  wholly  bent  on  the  splendid  tropica! 
vegetation  about  me,  I  suddenly  recognized  a  sea- 
breeze,  as  it  came  sifting  through  the  palmettos 
and  blooming  vine-tangles,  which  at  once  awak- 
ened and  set  free  a  thousand  dormant  associations, 
and  made  me  a  boy  again  in  Scotland,  as  if  all  the 
intervening  years  had  been  annihilated. 

Most  people  like  to  look  at  mountain  rivers,  and 
bear  them  in  mind;  but  few  care  to  look  at  the 
winds,  though  far  more  beautiful  and  sublime,  and 
though  they  become  at  times  about  as  visible  as 
flowing  water.  When  the  north  winds  in  winter 
are  making  upward  sweeps  over  the  curving  sum- 
mits of  the  High  Sierra,  the  fact  is  sometimes  pub- 
lished with  flying  snow-banners  a  mile  long.  Those 
portions  of  the  winds  thus  embodied  can  scarce  be 
wholly  invisible,  even  to  the  darkest  imagination. 
And  when  we  look  around  over  an  agitated  forest, 
we  may  see  something  of  the  wind  that  stirs  it,  by 
its  effects  upon  the  trees.  Yonder  it  descends  in  a 
rush  of  water-like  ripples,  and  sweeps  over  the 
bending  pines  from  hill  to  hill.  Nearer,  we  see 
detached  plumes  and  leaves,  now  speeding  by  on 


256  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

level  currents,  now  whirling  in  eddies,  or,  escaping 
over  the  edges  of  the  whirls,  soaring  aloft  on 
grand,  upswelling  domes  of  air,  or  tossing  on 
name-like  crests.  Smooth,  deep  currents,  cascades, 
falls,  and  swirling  eddies,  sing  around  every  tree 
and  leaf,  and  over  all  the  varied  topography  of  the 
region  with  telling  changes  of  form,  like  mountain 
rivers  conforming  to  the  features  of  their  channels. 

After  tracing  the  Sierra  streams  from  their  f oun- 
tains  to  the  plains,  marking  where  they  bloom 
white  in  falls,  glide  in  crystal  plumes,  surge  gray 
and  foam-filled  in  boulder-choked  gorges,  and  slip 
through  the  woods  in  long,  tranquil  reaches — after 
thus  learning  their  language  and  forms  in  detail, 
we  may  at  length  hear  them  chanting  all  together 
in  one  grand  anthem,  and  comprehend  them  all  in 
clear  inner  vision,  covering  the  range  like  lace. 
But  even  this  spectacle  is  far  less  sublime  and  not 
a  whit  more  substantial  than  what  we  may  behold 
of  these  storm-streams  of  air  in  the  mountain  woods. 

We  all  travel  the  milky  way  together,  trees  and 
men ;  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  until  this  storm- 
day,  while  swinging  in  the  wind,  that  trees  are 
travelers,  in  the  ordinary  sense.  They  make  many 
journeys,  not  extensive  ones,  it  is  true ;  but  our 
own  little  journeys,  away  and  back  again,  are  only 
little  more  than  tree-wavings  —  many  of  them  not 
so  much. 

When  the  storm  began  to  abate,  I  dismounted 
and  sauntered  down  through  the  calming  woods. 
The  storm-tones  died  away,  and,  turning  toward 
the  east,  I  beheld  the  countless  hosts  of  the  forests 
hushed  and  tranquil,  towering  above  one  another 


A  WIND-STOKM    I\    THE    FORESTS  25*3 

on  the  slopes  of  the  hills  like  a  devout  audience. 
The  setting  sun  filled  them  with  amber  light,  and 

seemed  to  say,  while  they  listened,  "  My  peace   I 
give  unto  you." 

As  I  gazed  on  the  impressive  scene,  all  the  so- 
called  ruin  of  the  storm  was  forgotten,  and  never 
before  did  these  noble  woods  appear  so  fresh,  so 
joyous,  so  immortal. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    RIVER    FLOODS 

THE  Sierra  rivers  are  flooded  every  spring  by 
the  melting  of  the  snow  as  regularly  as  the 
famons  old  Nile.  They  begin  to  rise  in  May,  and 
in  June  high-water  mark  is  reached.  But  because 
the  melting  does  not  go  on  rapidly  over  all  the 
fountains,  high  and  low,  simultaneously,  and  the 
melted  snow  is  not  reinforced  at  this  time  of  year 
by  rain,  the  spring  floods  are  seldom  very  violent 
or  destructive.  The  thousand  falls,  however, 
and  the  cascades  in  the  canons  are  then  in  full 
bloom,  and  sing  songs  from  one  end  of  the  range 
to  the  other.  Of  course  the  snow  on  the  lower 
tributaries  of  the  rivers  is  first  melted,  then  that 
on  the  higher  fountains  most  exposed  to  sunshine, 
and  about  a  month  later  the  cooler,  shadowy 
fountains  send  down  their  treasures,  thus  allowing 
the  main  trunk  streams  nearly  six  weeks  to  get  their 
waters  hurried  through  the  foot-hills  and  across 
the  lowlands  to  the  sea.  Therefore  very  violent 
spring  floods  are  avoided,  and  will  be  as  long  as 
the  shading,  restraining  forests  last.  The  rivers  of 
the  north  half  of  the  range  are  still  less  subject 
to  sudden  floods,  because  their  upper  fountains 
in  great  part  lie  protected  from  the  changes  of 


THE  RIVER  FLOODS  259 

the  weather  beneath  thick  folds  of  lava,  just  as 
many  of  the  rivers  of  Alaska  lie  beneath  folds  of 
ice,  coming  to  the  light  farther  down  the  range  in 
large  springs,  while  those  of  the  high  Sierra  lie 
on  the  surface  of  solid  granite,  exposed  to  every 
change  of  temperature.  More  than  ninety  per 
cent,  of  the  water  derived  from  the  snow  and  ice 
of  Mount  Shasta  is  at  once  absorbed  and  drained 
away  beneath  the  porous  lava  folds  of  the  moun- 
tain, where  mumbling  and  groping  in  the  dark 
they  at  length  find  larger  fissures  and  tunnel-like 
caves  from  which  they  emerge,  filtered  and  cool, 
in  the  form  of  large  springs,  some  of  them  so  large 
they  give  birth  to  rivers  that  set  out  on  their  jour- 
neys beneath  the  sun  without  any  visible  interme- 
diate period  of  childhood.  Thus  the  Shasta  River 
issues  from  a  large  lake-like  spring  in  Shasta  Valley, 
and  about  two  thirds  of  the  volume  of  the  McCloud 
River  gushes  forth  suddenly  from  the  face  of  a 
lava  bluff  in  a  roaring  spring  seventy-five  yards 
wide. 

These  spring  rivers  of  the  north  are  of  course 
shorter  than  those  of  the  south  whose  tributaries 
extend  up  to  the  tops  of  the  mountains.  Fall 
River,  an  important  tributary  of  the  Pitt  or  Upper 
Sacramento,  is  only  about  ten  miles  long,  and  is 
all  falls,  cascades,  and  springs  from  its  head  to  its 
confluence  with  the  Pitt.  Bountiful  springs,  charm- 
ingly embowered,  issue  from  the  rocks  at  one  end 
of  it,  a  snowy  fall  a  hundred  and  eighty  feet  high 
thunders  at  the  other,  and  a  rush  of  crystal  rapids 
sing  and  dance  between.  Of  course  such  streams 
are  but  little  affected  by  the  weather.    Sheltered 


260  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

from  evaporation  their  flow  is  nearly  as  full  in  the 
autumn  as  in  the  time  of  general  spring  floods. 
While  those  of  the  high  Sierra  diminish  to  less 
1 1  inn  the  hundredth  part  of  their  springtime  prime, 
shallowing  in  autumn  to  a  series  of  silent  pools 
among  the  rocks  and  hollows  of  their  channels, 
connected  by  feeble,  creeping  threads  of  water, 
like  the  sluggish  sentences  of  a  tired  writer,  con- 
nected by  a  drizzle  of  "  ands  "  and  "  buts."  Strange 
to  say,  the  greatest  floods  occur  in  winter,  when 
one  would  suppose  all  the  wild  waters  would  be 
muffled  and  chained  in  frost  and  snow.  The  same 
long,  all-day  storms  of  the  so-called  Rainy  Season 
in  California,  that  give  rain  to  the  lowlands,  give 
dry  frosty  snow  to  the  mountains.  But  at  rare 
intervals  warm  rains  and  warm  winds  invade  the 
mountains  and  push  back  the  snow  line  from  2000 
feet  to  8000,  or  even  higher,  and  then  come  the 
big  floods. 

I  was  usually  driven  down  out  of  the  High  Si- 
erra about  the  end  of  November,  but  the  winter  of 
1 874  and  1875  was  so  warm  and  calm  that  I  was 
tempted  to  seek  general  views  of  the  geology  and 
topography  of  the  basin  of  Feather  River  in  Janu- 
ary. And  I  had  just  completed  a  hasty  survey  of 
llir  region,  and  made  my  way  down  to  winter 
quarters,  when  one  of  the  grandest  flood-storms 
that  I  ever  saw  broke  on  the  mountains.  I  was 
then  in  the  edge  of  the  main  forest  belt  at  a  small 
t'<»ol -hill  town  called  Knoxville,  on  the  divide  be- 
tween the  waters  of  the  Feather  and  Yuba  rivers. 
The  cause  of  this  notable  flood  was  simply  a  sud- 
den and  copious  fall  of  warm  wind  and  rain  on  the 


THE   RIVER  FLOODS  261 

basins  of  these  rivers  at  a  time  when  they  con- 
tained a  considerable  quantity  of  snow.  The  rain 
was  so  heavy  and  long-sustained  that  it  was,  of 
itself,  sufficient  to  make  a  good  wild  flood,  while 
the  snow  which  the  warm  wind  and  rain  melted  on 
the  upper  and  middle  regions  of  the  basins  was 
sufficient  to  make  another  flood  equal  to  that  of 
the  rain.  Now  these  two  distinct  harvests  of  flood 
waters  were  gathered  simultaneously  and  poured 
out  on  the  plain  in  one  magnificent  avalanche. 
The  basins  of  the  Yuba  and  Feather,  like  many 
others  of  the  Sierra,  are  admirably  adapted  to  the 
growth  of  floods  of  this  kind.  Their  many  tribu- 
taries radiate  far  and  wide,  comprehending  ex- 
tensive areas,  and  the  tributaries  are  steeply 
inclined,  while  the  trunks  are  comparatively  level 
While  the  flood-storm  was  in  progress  the  ther- 
mometer at  Knoxville  ranged  between  44°  and  50°  ; 
and  when  warm  wind  and  warm  rain  fall  simulta- 
neously on  snow  contained  in  basins  like  these, 
both  the  rain  and  that  portion  of  the  snow  which 
the  rain  and  wind  melt  are  at  first  sponged  up  and 
held  back  until  the  combined  mass  becomes  sludge, 
which  at  length,  suddenly  dissolving,  slips  and  de- 
scends all  together  to  the  trunk  channel;  and 
since  the  deeper  the  stream  the  faster  it  flows,  the 
flooded  portion  of  the  current  above  overtakes  the 
slower  foot-hill  portion  below  it,  and  all  sweeping 
forward  together  with  a  high,  overcurling  front, 
debouches  on  the  open  plain  with  a  violence  and 
suddenness  that  at  first  seem  wholly  unaccountable. 
The  destructiveness  of  the  lower  portion  of  this  par- 
ticular flood  was  somewhat  augmented  by  mining 


262  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

gravel  in  the  river  channels,  and  by  levees  which 
gave  way  after  having  at  first  restrained  and  held 
hack  the  accumulating  waters.  These  exaggerating 
conditions  did  not,  however,  greatly  influence  the 
general  result,  the  main  effect  having  been  caused 
1  >y  the  rare  combination  of  flood  factors  indicated 
above.  It  is  a  pity  that  but  few  people  meet  and 
enjoy  storms  so  noble  as  this  in  their  homes  in  the 
mountains,  for,  spending  themselves  in  the  open 
levels  of  the  plains,  they  are  likely  to  be  remem- 
bered more  by  the  bridges  and  houses  they  carry 
away  than  by  their  beauty  or  the  thousand  bless- 
ings they  bring  to  the  fields  and  gardens  of  Nature. 

On  the  morning  of  the  flood,  January  19th,  all 
the  Feather  and  Yuba  landscapes  were  covered 
with  running  water,  muddy  torrents  filled  every 
gulch  and  ravine,  and  the  sky  was  thick  with 
rain.  The  pines  had  long  been  sleeping  in  sun- 
shine ;  they  were  now  awake,  roaring  and  waving 
with  the  beating  storm,  and  the  winds  sweeping 
along  the  curves  of  hill  and  dale,  streaming  through 
the  woods,  surging  and  gurgling  on  the  tops  of 
rocky  ridges,  made  the  wildest  of  wild  storm  melody. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  only  a  small  part  of  the 
rain  reached  the  ground  in  the  form  of  drops. 
Most  of  it  was  thrashed  into  dusty  spray  like  that 
into  which  small  waterfalls  are  divided  when  they 
dash  on  shelving  rocks.  Never  have  I  seen  water 
coming  from  the  sky  in  denser  or  more  passionate 
streams.  The  wind  chased  the  spray  forward  in 
choking  drifts,  and  compelled  me  again  and  again 
to  seek  shelter  in  the  dell  copses  and  back  of  large 
trees  to  rest  and  catch  my  breath.     Wherever  I 


THE   RIVER   FLOODS  263 

went,  on  ridges  or  in  hollows,  enthusiastic  water 
still  flashed  and  gurgled  about  my  ankles,  recalling 
a  wild  winter  flood  in  Yosemite  when  a  hundred 
waterfalls  came  booming  and  chanting  together 
and  filled  the  grand  valley  with  a  sea-like  roar. 
After  drifting  an  hour  or  two  in  the  lower  woods, 
I  set  out  for  the  summit  of  a  hill  900  feet  high,  with 
a  view  to  getting  as  near  the  heart  of  the  storm  as 
possible.  In  order  to  reach  it  I  had  to  cross  Dry 
Creek,  a  tributary  of  the  Yuba  that  goes  crawling 
along  the  base  of  the  hill  on  the  northwest.  It  was 
now  a  booming  river  as  large  as  the  Tuolumne  ;il 
ordinary  stages,  its  current  brown  with  mining- 
mud  washed  down  from  many  a  "  claim,"  and  mot- 
tled with  sluice-boxes,  fence-rails,  and  logs  that 
had  long  lain  above  its  reach.  A  slim  foot-bridge 
stretched  across  it,  now  scarcely  above  the  swollen 
current.  Here  I  was  glad  to  linger,  gazing  and 
listening,  while  the  storm  was  in  its  richest  mood 
—  the  gray  rain-flood  above,  the  brown  river-flood 
beneath.  The  language  of  the  river  was  scarcely 
less  enchanting  than  that  of  the  wind  and  rain; 
the  sublime  overboom  of  the  main  bouncing,  exult- 
ing current,  the  swash  and  gurgle  of  the  eddies, 
the  keen  dash  and  clash  of  heavy  waves  breaking 
against  rocks,  and  the  smooth,  downy  hush  of  si  wil- 
low currents  feeling  their  way  through  the  willow 
thickets  of  the  margin.  And  amid  all  this  varied 
throng  of  sounds  I  heard  the  smothered  bumping 
and  rumbling  of  boulders  on  the  bottom  as  they 
were  shoving  and  rolling  forward  against  one  an- 
other in  a  wild  rush,  after  having  lain  still  for 
probably  100  years  or  more. 


l!(i4  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

The  glad  creek  rose  high  above  its  banks  and 
wandered  from  its  channel  out  over  many  a  briery 
sand-Hat  and  meadow.  Alders  and  willows  waist- 
deep  were  bearing  up  against  the  current  with 
nervous  trembling  gestures,  as  if  afraid  of  being 
carried  away,  while  supple  branches  bending  con- 
fidingly, dipped  lightly  and  rose  again,  as  if  strok- 
ing the  wild  waters  in  play.  Leaving  the  bridge 
and  passing  on  through  the  storm-thrashed  woods, 
all  the  ground  seemed  to  be  moving.  Pine-tassels, 
tlakes  of  bark,  soil,  leaves,  and  broken  branches 
were  being  swept  forward,  and  many  a  rock-frag- 
ment, weathered  from  exposed  ledges,  was  now  re- 
ceiving its  first  rounding  and  polishing  in  the  wild 
streams  of  the  storm.  On  they  rushed  through 
every  gulch  and  hollow,  leaping,  gliding,  working 
with  a  will,  and  rejoicing  like  living  creatures. 

Nor  was  the  flood  confined  to  the  ground.  Every 
tree  had  a  water  system  of  its  own  spreading  far 
and  wide  like  miniature  Amazons  and  Mississippis. 
Toward  midday,  cloud,  wind,  and  rain  reached 
their  highest  development.  The  storm  was  in  full 
blooin,  and  formed,  from  my  commanding  outlook 
on  the  hilltop,  one  of  the  most  glorious  views  I 
ever  beheld.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  above, 
beneath,  around,  wind-driven  rain  filled  the  air  like 
one  vast  waterfall.  Detached  clouds  swept  impos- 
ingly up  the  valley,  as  if  they  were  endowed  with 
independent  motion  and  had  special  work  to  do  in 
replenishing  the  mountain  wells,  now  rising  above 
the  pine-tops,  now  descending  into  their  midst, 
fondling  their  arrowy  spires  and  soothing  every 
branch  and  leaf  with  gentleness  in  the  midst  of  all 


THE   RIVER  FLOODS  265 

the  savage  sound  and  motion.  Others  keeping 
near  the  ground  glided  behind  separate  groves,  and 
brought  them  forward  into  relief  with  admirable 
distinctness;  or,  passing  in  front,  eclipsed  whole 
groves  in  succession,  pine  after  pine  melting  in  their 
gray  fringes  and  bursting  forth  again  seemingly 
clearer  than  before. 

The  forms  of  storms  are  in  great  part  measured, 
and  controlled  by  the  topography  of  the  regions 
where  they  rise  and  over  which  they  pass.  When, 
therefore,  we  attempt  to  study  them  from  the  val- 
leys, or  from  gaps  and  openings  of  the  forest,  we 
are  confounded  by  a  multitude  of  separate  and  ap- 
parently antagonistic  impressions.  The  bottom  of 
the  storm  is  broken  up  into  innumerable  waves 
and  currents  that  surge  against  the  hillsides  like 
sea-waves  against  a  shore,  and  these,  reacting  on 
the  nether  surface  of  the  storm,  erode  immense 
cavernous  hollows  and  canons,  and  sweep  for- 
ward the  resulting  detritus  in  long  trains,  like  the 
moraines  of  glaciers.  But,  as  we  ascend,  these 
partial,  confusing  effects  disappear  and  the  phenom- 
ena are  beheld  united  and  harmonious. 

The  longer  I  gazed  into  the  storm,  the  more 
plainly  visible  it  became.  The  drifting  cloud  de- 
tritus gave  it  a  kind  of  visible  body,  which  ex- 
plained many  perplexing  phenomena,  and  published 
its  movements  in  plain  terms,  while  the  texture  of 
the  falling  mass  of  rain  rounded  it  out  and  ren- 
dered it  more  complete.  Because  raindrops  differ 
in  size  they  fall  at  different  velocities  and  overtake 
and  clash  against  one  another,  producing  mist 
and  spray.     They  also,  of  course,  yield  unequal 


266  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

compliance  to  the  force  of  the  wind,  which  gives 
rise  to  a  still  greater  degree  of  interference,  and 
passionate  gusts  sweep  off  clouds  of  spray  from 
the  groves  like  that  torn  from  wave-tops  in  a  gale. 
All  these  factors  of  irregularity  in  density,  color, 
and  texture  of  the  general  rain  mass  tend  to  make 
it  the  more  appreciable  and  telling.  It  is  then  seen 
as  one  grand  flood  rushing  over  bank  and  brae, 
bending  the  pines  like  weeds,  curving  this  way  and 
that,  whirling  in  huge  eddies  in  hollows  and  dells, 
while  the  main  current  pours  grandly  over  all,  like 
ocean  currents  over  the  landscapes  that  lie  hidden 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

I  watched  the  gestures  of  the  pines  while  the 
storm  was  at  its  height,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
they  were  not  distressed.  Several  large  Sugar 
Pines  stood  near  the  thicket  in  which  I  was  sheltered, 
bowing  solemnly  and  tossing  their  long  arms  as  if 
interpreting  the  very  words  of  the  storm  while  ac- 
cepting its  wildest  onsets  with  passionate  exhil- 
aration. The  lions  were  feeding.  Those  who  have 
observed  sunflowers  feasting  on  sunshine  during 
the  golden  days  of  Indian  summer  know  that  none 
of  their  gestures  express  thankfulness.  Their  celes- 
tial food  is  too  heartily  given,  too  heartily  taken 
to  leave  room  for  thanks.  The  pines  were  evi- 
dently accepting  the  benefactions  of  the  storm  in 
the  same  whole-souled  manner ;  and  when  I  looked 
down  among  the  budding  hazels,  and  still  lower  to 
the  young  violets  and  fern-tufts  on  the  rocks,  I 
noticed  the  same  divine  methods  of  giving  and 
taking,  and  the  same  exquisite  adaptations  of  what 
seems  an  outbreak  of  violent  and  uncontrollable 


THE  KIVER  FLOODS  267 

force  to  the  purposes  of  beautiful  and  delicate  life. 
Calms  like  sleep  come  upon  landscapes,  just  as 
they  do  on  people  and  trees,  and  storms  awaken 
them  in  the  same  way.  In  the  dry  midsummer  of 
the  lower  portion  of  the  range  the  withered  hills 
and  valleys  seem  to  lie  as  empty  and  expression- 
less as  dead  shells  on  a  shore.  Even  the  highest 
mountains  may  be  found  occasionally  dull  and  un- 
communicative as  if  in  some  way  they  had  lost 
countenance  and  shrunk  to  less  than  half  their  real 
stature.  But  when  the  lightnings  crash  and  echo  in 
the  canons,  and  the  clouds  come  down  wreathing 
and  crowning  their  bald  snowy  heads,  every  fea- 
ture beams  with  expression  and  they  rise  again  in 
all  their  imposing  majesty. 

Storms  are  fine  speakers,  and  tell  all  they  know, 
but  their  voices  of  lightning,  torrent,  and  rushing 
wind  are  much  less  numerous  than  the  nameless 
still,  small  voices  too  low  for  human  ears;  and 
because  we  are  poor  listeners  we  fail  to  catch  much 
that  is  fairly  within  reach.  Our  best  rains  are 
heard  mostly  on  roofs,  and  winds  in  chimneys; 
and  when  by  choice  or  compulsion  we  are  pushed 
into  the  heart  of  a  storm,  the  confusion  made  by 
cumbersome  equipments  and  nervous  haste  and 
mean  fear,  prevent  our  hearing  any  other  than 
the  loudest  expressions.  Yet  we  may  draw  en- 
joyment from  storm  sounds  that  are  beyond  hear- 
ing, and  storm  movements  we  cannot  see.  The 
sublime  whirl  of  planets  around  their  suns  is  as 
silent  as  raindrops  oozing  in  the  dark  among  the 
roots  of  plants.  In  this  great  storm,  as  in  every 
other,  there  were  tones  and  gestures  inexpressibly 


268  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

gentle  manifested  in  the  midst  of  what  is  called 
violence  and  fury,  but  easily  recognized  by  all  who 
look  and  listen  for  them.  The  rain  brought  out  the 
colors  of  the  woods  with  delightful  freshness,  the 
rich  brown  of  the  bark  of  the  trees  and  the  fallen 
burs  and  leaves  and  dead  ferns;  the  grays  of 
rocks  and  lichens;  the  light  purple  of  swelling 
buds,  and  the  warm  yellow  greens  of  the  libocedrus 
and  mosses.  The  air  was  steaming  with  delightful 
fragrance,  not  rising  and  wafting  past  in  separate 
masses,  but  diffused  through  all  the  atmosphere. 
Pine  woods  are  always  fragrant,  but  most  so  in 
spring  when  the  young  tassels  are  opening  and  in 
warm  weather  when  the  various  gums  and  balsams 
arc  softened  by  the  sun.  The  wind  was  now  chafing 
their  innumerable  needles  and  the  warm  rain  was 
steeping  them.  Monardella  grows  here  in  large  beds 
in  the  openings,  and  there  is  plenty  of  laurel  in 
dells  and  manzanita  on  the  hillsides,  and  the  rosy, 
fragrant  chamoebatia  carpets  the  ground  almost 
everywhere.  These,  with  the  gums  and  balsams  of 
the  woods,  form  the  main  local  fragrance-foun- 
tains of  the  storm.  The  ascending  clouds  of  aroma 
wind-rolled  and  rain-washed  became  pure  like 
light  and  traveled  with  the  wind  as  part  of  it. 
Toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  main  flood 
cloud  lifted  along  its  western  border  revealing 
a  beautiful  section  of  the  Sacramento  Valley  some 
twenty  or  thirty  miles  away,  brilliantly  sun-lighted 
and  glistering  with  rain-sheets  as  if  paved  with 
silver.  Soon  afterward  a  jagged  bluff-like  cloud 
with  a  sheer  face  appeared  over  the  valley  of  the 
Yuba,  dark-colored  and  roughened  with  numerous 


THE   RIVER   FLOODS  269 

furrows  like  some  huge  lava-table.  The  blue  Coast 
Range  was  seen  stretching  along  the  sky  like  a 
beveled  wall,  and  the  somber,  craggy  Marysville 
Buttes  rose  impressively  out  of  the  flooded  plain 
like  islands  out  of  the  sea.  Then  the  rain  began  1<> 
abate  and  I  sauntered  down  through  the  dripping 
bushes  reveling  in  the  universal  vigor  and  fresh- 
ness that  inspired  all  the  life  about  me.  How 
clean  and  unworn  and  immortal  the  woods  seemed 
to  be! — the  lofty  cedars  in  full  bloom  laden  with 
golden  pollen  and  their  washed  plumes  shining; 
the  pines  rocking  gently  and  settling  back  into 
rest,  and  the  evening  sunbeams  spangling  on  the 
broad  leaves  of  the  madronos,  their  tracery  of 
yellow  boughs  relieved  against  dusky  thickets  of 
Chestnut  Oak ;  liverworts,  lycopodiums,  ferns  were 
exulting  in  glorious  revival,  and  every  moss  that 
had  ever  lived  seemed  to  be  coming  crowding  back 
from  the  dead  to  clothe  each  trunk  and  stone  in 
living  green.  The  steaming  ground  seemed  fairly 
to  throb  and  tingle  with  life;  smilax,  fritillaria, 
saxifrage,  and  young  violets  were  pushing  up  as  if 
already  conscious  of  the  summer  glory,  and  in- 
numerable green  and  yellow  buds  were  peeping 
and   smiling  everywhere. 

As  for  the  birds  and  squirrels,  not  a  wing  or  tail 
of  them  was  to  be  seen  while  the  storm  was  Mow- 
ing. Squirrels  dislike  wet  weather  more  than  cats 
do;  therefore  they  were  at  home  rocking  in  their  dry 
nests.  The  birds  were  hiding  in  the  dells  out  of 
the  wind,  some  of  the  strongest  of  them  pecking 
at  acorns  and  manzanita  berries,  but  most  were 
perched  on  low  twigs,  their  breast  feathers  puffed 


270  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

out  and  keeping  one  another  company  through  the 
hard  time  as  best  they  could. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  village  about  sundown,  the 
good  people  bestirred  themselves,  pitying  my  be- 
draggled condition  as  if  I  were  some  benumbed  cast- 
away snatched  from  the  sea,  while  I,  in  turn,  warm 
with  excitement  and  reeking  like  the  ground,  pitied 
them  for  being  dry  and  defrauded  of  all  the  glory 
that  Nature  had  spread  round  about  them  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XII 


SIERRA   THUNDER-STORMS 


THE  weather  of  spring  and  summer  in  the  mid- 
dle region  of  the  Sierra  is  usually  well  necked 
with  rains  and  light  dustings  of  snow,  most  of 
which  are  far  too  obviously  joyful  and  life-giving 
to  be  regarded  as  storms;  and  in  the  picturesque 
beauty  and  clearness  of  outlines  of  their  clouds 
they  offer  striking  contrasts  to  those  boundless,  all- 
embracing  cloud-mantles  of  the  storms  of  winter. 
The  smallest  and  most  perfectly  individualized 
specimens  present  a  richly  modeled  cumulous  cloud 
rising  above  the  dark  woods,  about  11  a.  m.,  swell- 
ing with  a  visible  motion  straight  up  into  the  calm, 
sunny  sky  to  a  height  of  12,000  to  14,000  feet 
above  the  sea,  its  white,  pearly  bosses  relieved  by 
gray  and  pale  purple  shadows  in  the  hollows,  and 
showing  outlines  as  keenly  defined  as  those  of  the 
glacier-polished  domes.  In  less  than  an  hour  it 
attains  full  development  and  stands  poised  in  the 
blazing  sunshine  like  some  colossal  mountain,  as 
beautiful  in  form  and  finish  as  if  it  were  to  become 
a  permanent  addition  to  the  landscape.  Presently 
a  thunderbolt  crashes  through  the  crisp  air,  ring- 
ing like  steel  on  steel,  sharp  and  clear,  its  startling 
detonation  breaking  into  a  spray  of  echoes  against 


272  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

the  cliffs  and  canon  walls.  Then  down  comes,  a 
cataract  of  rain.  The  big  drops  sift  through  the 
pine-needles,  plash  and  patter  on  the  granite  pave- 
ments, and  pour  down  the  sides  of  ridges  and 
domes  in  a  network  of  gray,  bubbling  rills.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  cloud  withers  to  a  mesh  of  dim 
filaments  and  disappears,  leaving  the  sky  perfectly 
clear  and  bright,  every  dust-particle  wiped  and 
washed  out  of  it.  Everything  is  refreshed  and  in- 
vigorated, a  steam  of  fragrance  rises,  and  the 
storm  is  finished  —  one  cloud,  one  lightning-stroke, 
and  one  dash  of  rain.  This  is  the  Sierra  mid- 
summer thunder-storm  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms. 
But  some  of  them  attain  much  larger  proportions, 
and  assume  a  grandeur  and  energy  of  expression 
hardly  surpassed  by  those  bred  in  the  depths  of 
winter,  producing  those  sudden  floods  called 
"cloud-bursts,"  which  are  local,  and  to  a  consider- 
able extent  periodical,  for  they  appear  nearly  every 
day  about  the  same  time  for  weeks,  usually  about 
eleven  o'clock,  and  lasting  from  five  minutes  to  an 
hour  or  two.  One  soon  becomes  so  accustomed  to 
see  them  that  the  noon  sky  seems  empty  and  aban- 
doned without  them,  as  if  Nature  were  forgetting 
something.  When  the  glorious  pearl  and  alabaster 
clouds  of  these  noonday  storms  are  being  built  I 
never  give  attention  to  anything  else.  No  moun- 
fcain  or  mountain-range,  however  divinely  clothed 
with  light,  has  a  more  enduring  charm  than 
those  fleeting  mountains  of  the  sky  —  floating  foun- 
tains bearing  water  for  every  well,  the  angels  of  the 
st  reams  and  lakes ;  brooding  in  the  deep  azure,  or 
sweeping  softly  along  the  ground  over  ridge  and 


BRIDAL   VEIL   FALLS,  YOSEMITE   VALLEY. 


SIERRA   THUNDER-STORMS  273 

dome,  over  meadow,  over  forest,  over  garden  and 
grove;  lingering  with  cooling  shadows,  refreshing 
every  flower,  and  soothing  rugged  rock-brows  with 
a  gentleness  of  touch  and  gesture  wholly  divine. 

The  most  beautiful  and  imposing  of  the  summer 
storms  rise  just  above  the  upper  edge  of  the  Silver 
Fir  zone,  and  all  are  so  beautiful  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  choose  any  one  for  particular  description.  The 
one  that  I  remember  best  fell  on  the  mountains 
near  Yosemite  Valley,  July  19,  1869,  while  I  was 
encamped  in  the  Silver  Fir  woods.  A  range  of 
bossy  cumuli  took  possession  of  the  sky,  huge 
domes  and  peaks  rising  one  beyond  another  with 
deep  canons  between  them,  bending  this  way  and 
that  in  long  curves  and  reaches,  interrupted  here 
and  there  with  white  upboiling  masses  that  looked 
like  the  spray  of  waterfalls.  Zigzag  lances  of  light- 
ning followed  each  other  in  quick  succession,  and 
the  thunder  was  so  gloriously  loud  and  massive  it 
seemed  as  if  surely  an  entire  mountain  was  being 
shattered  at  every  stroke.  Only  the  trees  were 
touched,  however,  so  far  as  I  could  see, —  a  few 
firs  200  feet  high,  perhaps,  and  five  to  six  feet  in 
diameter,  were  split  into  long  rails  and  slivers 
from  top  to  bottom  and  scattered  to  all  points  of 
the  compass.  Then  came  the  rain  in  a  hearty 
flood,  covering  the  ground  and  making  it  shine 
with  a  continuous  sheet  of  water  that,  like  a  trans- 
parent film  or  skin,  fitted  closely  down  over  all  the 
rugged  anatomy  of  the  landscape. 

It  is  not  long,  geologically  speaking,  since  the 
first  raindrop  fell  on  the  present  landscapes  of  the 
Sierra;  and  in  the  few  tens  of  thousands  of  years 


274  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

of  stormy  cultivation  they  have  been  blest  with, 
how  beautiful  they  have  become !  The  first  rains 
fell  on  raw,  crumbling  moraines  and  rocks  with- 
out a  plant.  Now  scarcely  a  drop  can  fail  to  find  a 
beautiful  mark :  on  the  tops  of  the  peaks,  on  the 
smooth  glacier  pavements,  on  the  curves  of  the 
domes,  on  moraines  full  of  crystals,  on  the  thou- 
sand forms  of  yosemitic  sculpture  with  their 
tender  beauty  of  balmy,  flowery  vegetation,  lav- 
ing, plashing,  glinting,  pattering;  some  falling  softly 
on  meadows,  creeping  out  of  sight,  seeking  and 
finding  every  thirsty  rootlet,  some  through  the 
spires  of  the  woods,  sifting  in  dust  through  the 
needles,  and  whispering  good  cheer  to  each  of 
them ;  some  falling  with  blunt  tapping  sounds, 
drumming  on  the  broad  leaves  of  veratrum,  cypri- 
pedium,  saxifrage;  some  falling  straight  into  fra- 
grant corollas,  kissing  the  lips  of  lilies,  glinting  on 
the  sides  of  crystals,  on  shining  grains  of  gold; 
some  falling  into  the  fountains  of  snow  to  swell 
their  well-saved  stores;  some  into  the  lakes  and 
rivers,  patting  the  smooth  glassy  levels,  making 
dimples  and  bells  and  spray,  washing  the  mountain 
windows,  washing  the  wandering  winds;  some 
plashing  into  the  heart  of  snowy  falls  and  cascades 
as  if  eager  to  join  in  the  dance  and  the  song  and 
beat  the  foam  yet  finer.  Good  work  and  happy 
work  for  the  merry  mountain  raindrops,  each  one 
of  them  a  brave  fall  in  itself,  rushing  from  the  cliffs 
and  hollows  of  the  clouds  into  the  cliffs  and  hol- 
lows of  the  mountains ;  away  from  the  thunder  of 
the  sky  into  the  thunder  of  the  roaring  rivers. 
And  how  far  they  have  to  go,  and  how  many  cups 


SIEKEA   THUNDElt-STORMS  275 

to  fill — cassiope-cups,  holding  half  a  drop,  and  lake 
basins  between  the  hills,  each  replenished  with 
equal  care  —  every  drop  God's  messenger  sent  on  its 
way  with  glorious  pomp  and  display  of  power — 
silvery  new-born  stars  with  lake  and  river,  moun- 
tain and  valley — all  that  the  landscape  holds — re- 
flected in  their  crystal  depths. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   WATEJJ-OUZEL 

THE  waterfalls  of  the  Sierra  are  frequented  by 
only  one  bird, — the  Ouzel  or  Water  Thrush 
(Cinclus  Mexicanus,  Sw.).  He  is  a  singularly  joy- 
ous and  lovable  little  fellow,  about  the  size  of  a 
robin,  clad  in  a  plain  waterproof  suit  of  bluish 
gray,  with  a  tinge  of  chocolate  on  the  head  and 
shoulders.  In  form  he  is  about  as  smoothly  plump 
and  compact  as  a  pebble  that  has  been  whirled  in 
a  pot-hole,  the  flowing  contour  of  his  body  being 
interrupted  only  by  his  strong  feet  and  bill,  the 
crisp  wing-tips,  and  the  up-slanted  wren-like  tail. 
Among  all  the  countless  waterfalls  I  have  met 
in  the  course  of  ten  years'  exploration  in  the  Sierra, 
whether  among  the  icy  peaks,  or  warm  foot-hills, 
or  in  the  profound  yosemitic  canons  of  the  middle 
region,  not  one  was  found  without  its  Ouzel.  No 
canon  is  too  cold  for  this  little  bird,  none  too  lonely, 
provided  it  be  rich  in  falling  water.  Find  a  fall, 
or  cascade,  or  rushing  rapid,  anywhere  upon  a  clear 
stream,  and  there  you  will  surely  find  its  comple- 
mentary Ouzel,  flitting  about  in  the  spray,  diving 
in  foaming  eddies,  whirling  like  a  leaf  among  beaten 
foam-bells ;  ever  vigorous  and  enthusiastic,  yet  self- 
contained,  and  neither  seeking  nor  shunning  your 
company. 

276 


THE   WATER-OTTZEL 


277 


WATER-OUZEL    DIVING    AND     FEEDING 


If  disturbed  while  dipping  about  in  the  margin 
shallows,  he  either  sets  off  with  a  rapid  whir  to 
some  other  feeding-ground  up  or  down  the  stream, 
or  alights  on  some  half-submerged  rock  or  snag 
out  in  the  current,  and  immediately  begins  to  nod 
and  courtesy  like  a  wren,  turning  his  head  from 
side  to  side  with  many  other  odd  dainty  move- 


278  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ments  that  never  fail  to  fix  the  attention  of  the 
observer. 

He  is  the  mountain  streams'  own  darling,  the 
humming-bird  of  blooming  waters,  loving  rocky 
ripple-slopes  and  sheets  of  foam  as  a  bee  loves 
flowers,  as  a  lark  loves  sunshine  and  meadows. 
Among  all  the  mountain  birds,  none  has  cheered 
me  so  much  in  my  lonely  wanderings, — none  so 
unfailingly.  For  both  in  winter  and  summer  he 
sings,  sweetly,  cheerily,  independent  alike  of  sun- 
shine and  of  love,  requiring  no  other  inspiration 
than  the  stream  on  which  he  dwells.  While  water 
sings,  so  must  he,  in  heat  or  cold,  calm  or  storm, 
ever  attuning  his  voice  in  sure  accord ;  low  in  the 
drought  of  summer  and  the  drought  of  winter,  but 
never  silent. 

During  the  golden  days  of  Indian  summer,  after 
most  of  the  snow  has  been  melted,  and  the  mountain 
streams  have  become  feeble, — a  succession  of  silent 
pools,  linked  together  by  shallow,  transparent  cur- 
rents and  strips  of  silvery  lacework, —  then  the  song 
of  the  Ouzel  is  at  its  lowest  ebb.  But  as  soon  as  the 
winter  clouds  have  bloomed,  and  the  mountain 
treasuries  are  once  more  replenished  with  snow, 
the  voices  of  the  streams  and  ouzels  increase  in 
strength  and  richness  until  the  flood  season  of 
early  summer.  Then  the  torrents  chant  their  no- 
blest anthems,  and  then  is  the  flood-time  of  our 
songster's  melody.  As  for  weather,  dark  days  and 
sun  days  are  the  same  to  him.  The  voices  of  most 
song-birds,  however  joyous,  suffer  a  long  winter 
eclipse;  but  the  Ouzel  sings  on  through  all  the 
seasons  and  every  kind  of  storm.    Indeed  no  storm 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  279 

can  be  more  violent  than  those  of  the  waterfalls 
in  the  midst  of  which  he  delights  to  dwell.  How- 
ever dark  and  boisterous  the  weather,  snowing, 
blowing,  or  cloudy,  all  the  same  he  sings,  and  with 
never  a  note  of  sadness.  No  need  of  spring  sun- 
shine to  thaw  Ms  song,  for  it  never  freezes.  Never 
shall  you  hear  anything  wintry  from  his  warm 
breast ;  no  pinched  cheeping,  no  wavering  notes  be- 
tween sorrow  and  joy;  his  mellow,  fluty  voice  is 
ever  tuned  to  downright  gladness,  as  free  from 
dejection  as  cock-crowing. 

It  is  pitiful  to  see  wee  frost-pinched  sparrows 
on  cold  mornings  in  the  mountain  groves  shaking 
the  snow  from  their  feathers,  and  hopping  about 
as  if  anxious  to  be  cheery,  then  hastening  back  to 
their  hidings  out  of  the  wind,  puffing  out  their 
breast-feathers  over  their  toes,  and  subsiding 
among  the  leaves,  cold  and  breakfastless,  while  the 
snow  continues  to  fall,  and  there  is  no  sign  of 
clearing.  But  the  Ouzel  never  calls  forth  a  single 
touch  of  pity ;  not  because  he  is  strong  to  endure, 
but  rather  because  he  seems  to  live  a  charmed  life 
beyond  the  reach  of  every  influence  that  makes  en- 
durance necessary. 

One  wild  winter  morning,  when  Yosemite  Valley 
was  swept  its  length  from  west  to  east  by  a  cordial 
snow-storm,  I  sallied  forth  to  see  what  I  might  learn 
and  enjoy.  A  sort  of  gray,  gloaming-like  darkness 
filled  the  valley,  the  huge  walls  were  out  of  sight, 
all  ordinary  sounds  were  smothered,  and  even  the 
loudest  booming  of  the  falls  was  at  times  buried 
beneath  the  roar  of  the  heavy-laden  blast.  The 
loose   snow  was  already  over  live  feet  deep   on 


280  THE   MOUNTAINS   OP   CALIFOKNIA 

the  meadows,  making  extended  walks  impossible 
without  the  aid  of  snow-shoes.  I  found  no  great 
difficulty,  however,  in  making  my  way  to  a  certain 
ripple  on  the  river  where  one  of  my  ouzels  lived. 
He  was  at  home,  busily  gleaning  his  breakfast 
among  the  pebbles  of  a  shallow  portion  of  the 
margin,  apparently  unaware  of  anything  extraor- 
dinary in  the  weather.  Presently  he  flew  out  to  a 
stone  against  which  the  icy  current  was  beating, 
and  turning  his  back  to  the  wind,  sang  as  delight- 
fully as  a  lark  in  springtime. 

After  spending  an  hour  or  two  with  my  favorite, 
I  made  my  way  across  the  valley,  boring  and  wal- 
lowing through  the  drifts,  to  learn  as  definitely  as 
possible  how  the  other  birds  were  spending  their 
time.  The  Yosemite  birds  are  easily  found  during 
the  winter  because  all  of  them  excepting  the  Ouzel 
are  restricted  to  the  sunny  north  side  of  the  valley, 
the  south  side  being  constantly  eclipsed  by  the 
great  frosty  shadow  of  the  wall.  And  because  the 
Indian  Canon  groves,  from  their  peculiar  exposure, 
are  the  warmest,  the  birds  congregate  there,  more 
especially  in  severe  weather. 

I  found  most  of  the  robins  cowering  on  the  lee 
side  of  the  larger  branches  where  the  snow  could 
not  fall  upon  them,  while  two  or  three  of  the  more 
enterprising  were  making  desperate  efforts  to  reach 
the  mistletoe  berries  by  clinging  nervously  to  the 
under  side  of  the  snow-crowned  masses,  back 
downward,  like  woodpeckers.  Every  now  and 
then  they  would  dislodge  some  of  the  loose  fringes 
of  the  snow-crown,  which  would  come  sifting  down 
on  them  and  send  them  screaming  back  to  camp, 


THE  WATER-OUZEL  281 

where  they  would  subside  among  their  companions 
with  a  shiver,  muttering  in  low,  querulous  chatter 
like  hungry  children. 

Some  of  the  sparrows  were  busy  at  the  feet  of 
the  larger  trees  gleaning  seeds  and  benumbed 
insects,  joined  now  and  then  by  a  robin  weary  of 
his  unsuccessful  attempts  upon  the  snow-covered 
berries.  The  brave  woodpeckers  were  clinging  to 
the  snowless  sides  of  the  larger  boles  and  overarch- 
ing branches  of  the  camp  trees,  making  short 
flights  from  side  to  side  of  the  grove,  pecking  now 
and  then  at  the  acorns  they  had  stored  in  the  bark, 
and  chattering  aimlessly  as  if  unable  to  keep  still, 
yet  evidently  putting  in  the  time  in  a  very  dull 
way,  like  storm-bound  travelers  at  a  country 
tavern.  The  hardy  nut-hatches  were  threading  the 
oj>en  furrows  of  the  trunks  in  their  usual  industri- 
ous manner,  and  uttering  their  quaint  notes,  evi- 
dently less  distressed  than  their  neighbors.  The 
Steller  jays  were  of  course  making  more  noisy  stir 
than  all  the  other  birds  combined;  ever  coining 
and  going  with  loud  bluster,  screaming  as  if  each 
had  a  lump  of  melting  sludge  in  his  throat,  and 
taking  good  care  to  improve  the  favorable  op- 
portunity afforded  by  the  storm  to  steal  from  the 
acorn  stores  of  the  woodpeckers.  I  also  notice*  1 
one  solitary  gray  eagle  braving  the  storm  on  the 
top  of  a  tall  pine-stump  just  outside  the  main 
grove.  He  was  standing  bolt  upright  with  his 
back  to  the  wind,  a  tuft  of  snow  piled  on  his 
square  shoulders,  a  monument  of  passive  endur- 
ance. Thus  every  snow-bound  bird  seemed  more 
or  less  uncomfortable  if   not  in  positive  distress. 


282  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

The  storm  was  reflected  in  every  gesture,  and  not 
one  cheerful  note,  not  to  say  song,  came  from  a 
single  bill;  their  cowering,  joyless  endurance  offer- 
ing a  striking  contrast  to  the  spontaneous,  irre- 
pressible gladness  of  the  Ouzel,  who  could  no  more 
help  exhaling  sweet  song  than  a  rose  sweet  fra- 
grance. He  must  sing  though  the  heavens  fall.  I  re- 
member noticing  the  distress  of  a  pair  of  robins 
during  the  violent  earthquake  of  the  year  1872,  when 
the  pines  of  the  Valley,  with  strange  movements, 
flapped  and  waved  their  branches,  and  beetling 
rock-brows  came  thundering  down  to  the  meadows 
in  tremendous  avalanches.  It  did  not  occur  to  me 
in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  of  other  observa- 
tions to  look  for  the  ouzels,  but  I  doubt  not  they 
were  singing  straight  on  through  it  all,  regarding 
the  terrible  rock-thunder  as  fearlessly  as  they  do  the 
booming  of  the  waterfalls. 

What  may  be  regarded  as  the  separate  songs  of 
the  Ouzel  are  exceedingly  difficult  of  description, 
because  they  are  so  variable  and  at  the  same  time 
so  confluent.  Though  I  have  been  acquainted  with 
my  favorite  ten  years,  and  during  most  of  this  time 
have  heard  him  sing  nearly  every  day,  I  still  detect 
notes  and  strains  that  seem  new  to  me.  Nearly  all 
of  his  music  is  sweet  and  tender,  lapsing  from  his 
round  breast  like  water  over  the  smooth  lip  of  a 
pool,  then  breaking  farther  on  into  a  sparkling 
foam  of  melodious  notes,  which  glow  with  subdued 
enthusiasm,  yet  without  expressing  much  of  the 
strong,  gushing  ecstasy  of  the  bobolink  or  skylark. 

The  more  striking  strains  are  perfect  arabesques 
of  melody,  composed  of  a  few  full,  round,  mellow 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  US.' J 

notes,  embroidered  with  delicate  trills  which  fade 
and  melt  in  long  slender  cadences.  In  a  general 
way  his  music  is  that  of  the  streams  refined  and 
spiritualized.  The  deep  booming  notes  of  the  falls 
are  in  it,  the  trills  of  rapids,  the  gurgling  of  mar- 
gin eddies,  the  low  whispering  of  level  reaches,  and 
the  sweet  tinkle  of  separate  drops  oozing  from  the 
ends  of  mosses  and  falling  into  tranquil  pools. 

The  Ouzel  never  sings  in  chorus  with  other  birds, 
nor  with  his  kind,  but  only  with  the  streams.  And 
like  flowers  that  bloom  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  some  of  our  favorite's  best  song-blossoms 
never  rise  above  the  surface  of  the  heavier  music 
of  the  water.  I  have  often  observed  him  singing  in 
the  midst  of  beaten  spray,  his  music  completely 
buried  beneath  the  water's  roar ;  yet  I  knew  he  was 
surely  singing  by  his  gestures  and  the  movements 
of  his  bill. 

His  food,  as  far  as  I  have  noticed,  consists  of  all 
kinds  of  water  insects,  which  in  summer  are  chiefly 
procured  along  shallow  margins.  Here  he  wades 
about  ducking  his  head  under  water  and  deftly 
turning  over  pebbles  and  fallen  leaves  with  his  bill, 
seldom  choosing  to  go  into  deep  water  where  he 
has  to  use  his  wings  in  diving. 

He  seems  to  be  especially  fond  of  the  larvae  of 
mosquitos,  found  in  abundance  attached  to  the 
bottom  of  smooth  rock  channels  where  the  cur- 
rent is  shallow.  When  feeding  in  such  places 
he  wades  up-stream,  and  often  while  his  head  is 
underwater  the  swift  current  is  deflected  upward 
along  the  glossy  curves  of  his  neck  and  shoulders, 
in  the  form  of  a  clear,  crystalline  shell,  which  fairly 


284  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFORNIA 

incloses  him  like  a  bell-glass,  the  shell  being  broken 
and  re-formed  as  he  lifts  and  dips  his  head;  while 
ever  and  anon  lie  sidles  ont  to  where  the  too  pow 
erful  current  carries  him  off  his  feet ;  then  he  dex 
terously  rises  on  the  wing  and  goes  gleaning  again 
in  shallower  places. 

But  during  the  winter,  when  the  stream-banks*, 
are  embossed  in  snow,  and  the  streams  them- 
selves  are  chilled  nearly  to  the  freezing-point,  so 
that  the  snow  falling  into  them  in  stormy  weather 
is  not  wholly  dissolved,  but  forms  a  thin,  blue 
sludge,  thus  rendering  the  current  opaque  —  then 
he  seeks  the  deeper  portions  of  the  main  rivers, 
where  he  may  dive  to  clear  water  beneath  the 
sludge.  Or  he  repairs  to  some  open  lake  or  mill- 
pond,  at  the  bottom  of  which  he  feeds  in  safety. 

When  thus  compelled  to  betake  himself  to  a 
lake,  he  does  not  plunge  into  it  at  once  like  a 
duck,  but  always  alights  in  the  first  place  upon 
some  rock  or  fallen  pine  along  the  shore.  Then 
flying  out  thirty  or  forty  yards,  more  or  less,  ac- 
cording to  the  character  of  the  bottom,  he  alights 
with  a  dainty  glint  on  the  surface,  swims  about, 
looks  down,  finally  makes  up  his  mind,  and  dis- 
appears with  a  sharp  stroke  of  his  wings.  After 
feeding  for  two  or  three  minutes  he  suddenly  re- 
appears, showers  the  water  from  his  wings  with 
one  vigorous  shake,  and  rises  abruptly  into  the  air 
as  if  pushed  up  from  beneath,  comes  back  to  his 
perch,  sings  a  few  minutes,  and  goes  out  to  dive 
again ;  thus  coming  and  going,  singing  and  diving 
at  the  same  place  for  hours. 

The  Ouzel  is  usually  found   singly;    rarely  in 


THE    WATI 


285 


1 


pairs,    excepting     during-    the 
breeding  season,  and  very  rarely 
in  threes  or  fours.     I  once  ob- 
served three  thus  spending  a 
winter   morning  in    company, 
upon  a  small  glacier  lake,  on 
the  Upper  Merced, 
about  7500feetabove 
the  level  of  the  sea. 
A  storm  had  occurred 
during    the     night, 
but  the  morning  sun 
shoneunclouded,and 
the    shadowy   lake, 
gleaming  darkly  in 
its  setting  of  fresh 
snow,    lay    smooth 
and  motionless  as  a 
mirror.      My  camp 
chanced  to  be  within 
a   few   feet   of   the 

water's  edge,  opposite  a  fallen  pine,  some  of  the 
branches  of  which  leaned  out  over  the  lake.    Here 


ONE  OP  THE  LATE-SUMMER  FEEDING- 
GROUNDS  OP  THE  OUZEL. 


286  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

ray  three  dearly  welcome  visitors  took  up  their 
station,  and  at  once  began  to  embroider  the  frosty 
air  with  their  delicious  melody,  doubly  delightful 
to  me  that  particular  morning,  as  I  had  been  some- 
what apprehensive  of  danger  in  breaking  my  way 
down  through  the  snow-choked  canons  to  the  low- 
lands. 

The  portion  of  the  lake  bottom  selected  for  a 
feeding-ground  lies  at  a  depth  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
feet  below  the  surface,  and  is  covered  with  a  short 
growth  of  alga3  and  other  aquatic  plants, —  facts  I 
had  previously  determined  while  sailing  over  it 
on  a  raft.  After  alighting  on  the  glassy  surface, 
they  occasionally  indulged  in  a  little  play,  chasing 
one  another  round  about  in  small  circles ;  then  all 
three  would  suddenly  dive  together,  and  then  come 
ashore  and  sing. 

The  Ouzel  seldom  swims  more  than  a  few  yards 
on  the  surface,  for,  not  being  web-footed,  he  makes 
rather  slow  progress,  but  by  means  of  his  strong, 
ciisp  wings  he  swims,  or  rather  flies,  with  celerity 
under  the  surface,  often  to  considerable  distances. 
But  it  is  in  withstanding  the  force  of  heavy  rap- 
ids that  his  strength  of  wing  in  this  respect  is 
most  strikingly  manifested.  The  following  may 
be  regarded  as  a  fair  illustration  of  his  power  of 
sub-aquatic  flight.  One  stormy  morning  in  winter 
when  the  Merced  River  was  blue  and  green  with 
unmelted  snow,  I  observed  one  of  my  ouzels  perched 
on  a  snag  out  in  the  midst  of  a  swift-rushing  rapid, 
singing  cheerily,  as  if  everything  was  just  to  his 
mind;  and  while  I  stood  on  the  bank  admiring 
him,  he  suddenly  plunged  into  the  sludgy  current, 


THE   WATER-OUZEL 


287 


leaving  his  song  abruptly  broken  off.  After  feed- 
ing a  minute  or  two  at  the  bottom,  ami  when  one 
would  suppose  that  he  must  inevitably  be  swepl 
far  down-stream,  he  emerged  just  where  he  went 
down,  alighted  on  the  same  snag, 
showered  the  water-beads  from 
his  feathers,  and  continued  his 
unfinished  song,  seemingly  in 
tranquil  ease  as  if  it  had  suffere<  1 
no  interruption. 

The  Ouzel  alone  of  all  birds 
dares  to  enter  a  white  torrent. 
And  though  strictly  terrestrial 
in  structure,  no  other  is  so  insep- 
arably related  to  water,  not  even 
the  duck,  or  the  bold  ocean  alba- 
tross, or  the 
stormy-pet- 
rel. Forducks 
go  ashore  as 
soon  as  they 
finish      feed- 
ing in  undis- 
turbedplaces, 
and  very  of- 
tenmakelong 
flights    over- 
land      from    1/ 

laketolakeor  ouzel  entering  a  white  current. 

field  to  field. 

The  same  is  true  of  most  other  aquatic  birds.  But 
the  Ouzel,  born  on  the  brink  of  a  stream,  or  on  a 
snag  or  boulder  in  the  midst  of  it,  seldom  leaves 


288  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

it  for  a  single  moment.  For,  notwithstanding  he 
is  often  on  the  wing,  he  never  flies  overland,  but 
whirs  with  rapid,  quail-like  beat  above  the  stream, 
tracing  all  its  windings.  Even  when  the  stream  is 
quite  small,  say  from  five  to  ten  feet  wide,  he  sel- 
dom shortens  his  flight  by  crossing  a  bend,  how- 
ever abrupt  it  may  be ;  and  even  when  disturbed 
by  meeting  some  one  on  the  bank,  he  prefers  to 
fly  over  one's  head,  to  dodging  out  over  the  ground. 
When,  therefore,  his  flight  along  a  crooked  stream 
is  viewed  endwise,  it  appears  most  strikingly  wav- 
ered— a  description  on  the  air  of  every  curve  with 
lightning-like  rapidity. 

The  vertical  curves  and  angles  of  the  most  pre- 
cipitous torrents  he  traces  with  the  same  rigid 
fidelity,  swooping  down  the  inclines  of  cascades, 
dropping  sheer  over  dizzy  falls  amid  the  spray, 
and  ascending  with  the  same  fearlessness  and  ease, 
seldom  seeking  to  lessen  the  steepness  of  the  ac- 
clivity by  beginning  to  ascend  before  reaching  the 
base  of  the  fall.  No  matter  though  it  may  be  sev- 
eral hundred  feet  in  height  he  holds  straight  on,  as 
if  about  to  dash  headlong  into  the  throng  of  boom- 
ing rockets,  then  darts  abruptly  upward,  and,  after 
alighting  at  the  top  of  the  precipice  to  rest  a 
moment,  proceeds  to  feed  and  sing.  His  flight  is 
solid  and  impetuous,  without  any  intermission  of 
wing-beats, —  one  homogeneous  buzz  like  that  of  a 
laden  bee  on  its  way  home.  And  while  thus  buzzing 
freely  from  fall  to  fall,  he  is  frequently  heard  giving 
utterance  to  a  long  outdrawn  train  of  unmodulated 
notes,  in  no  way  connected  with  his  song,  but  cor- 
responding closely  with  his  flight  in  sustained  vigor. 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  289 

Were  the  nights  of  all  the  ouzels  in  the  Sierra 
traced  on  a  chart,  they  would  indicate  the  direction 
of  the  flow  of  the  entire  system  of  ancient  glaciers, 
from  about  the  period  of  the  breaking  up  of  the 
ice-sheet  until  near  the  close  of  the  glacial  winter; 
because  the  streams  which  the  ouzels  so  rigidly 
follow  are,  with  the  unimportant  exceptions  of  a 
few  side  tributaries,  all  flowing  in  channels  eroded 
for  them  out  of  the  solid  flank  of  the  range  by  the 
vanished  glaciers, — the  streams  tracing  Hie  ancient 
glaciers,  the  ouzels  tracing  the  streams.  Nor  do  we 
find  so  complete  compliance  to  glacial  conditions  in 
the  life  of  any  other  mountain  bird,  or  animal  of 
any  kind.  Bears  frequently  accept  the  pathways 
laid  down  by  glaciers  as  the  easiest  to  travel ;  but 
they  often  leave  them  and  cross  over  from  canon 
to  canon.  So  also,  most  of  the  birds  trace  the 
moraines  to  some  extent,  because  the  forests  are 
growing  on  them.  But  they  wander  far,  crossing 
the  canons  from  grove  to  grove,  and  draw  exceed- 
ingly angular  and  complicated  courses. 

The  Ouzel's  nest  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
pieces  of  bird  architecture  I  ever  saw,  odd  and 
novel  in  design,  perfectly  fresh  and  beautiful,  and 
in  every  way  worthy  of  the  genius  of  the  little 
builder.  It  is  about  a  foot  in  diameter,  round  and 
bossy  in  outline,  with  a  neatly  arched  opening 
near  the  bottom,  somewhat  like  an  old-fashioned 
brick  oven,  or  Hottentot's  hut.  It  is  built  almost 
exclusively  of  green  and  yellow  mosses,  chiefly  the 
beautiful  fronded  hypnum  that  covers  the  rocks 
and  old  drift-logs  in  the  vicinity  of  waterfalls. 
These  are  deftly  interwoven,  and  felted  together 


290  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

into  a  charming  little  hut;  and  so  situated  that 
many  of  the  outer  mosses  continue  to  nourish  as 
it'  f hey  had  not  been  plucked.  A  few  fine,  silky- 
stemmed  grasses  are  occasionally  found  interwoven 
with  the  mosses,  but,  with  the  exception  of  a  thin 
layer  lining  the  floor,  their  presence  seems  acci- 
dental, as  they  are  of  a  species  found  growing  with 
the  mosses  and  are  probably  plucked  with  them. 
The  site  chosen  for  this  curious  mansion  is  usually 
some  little  rock-shelf  within  reach  of  the  lighter 
particles  of  the  spray  of  a  waterfall,  so  that  its 
walls  are  kept  green  and  growing,  at  least  during 
the  time  of  high  water. 

No  harsh  lines  are  presented  by  any  portion  of 
the  nest  as  seen  in  place,  but  when  removed  from 
its  shelf,  the  back  and  bottom,  and  sometimes  a 
portion  of  the  top,  is  found  quite  sharply  angular, 
because  it  is  made  to  conform  to  the  surface  of  the 
rock  upon  which  and  against  which  it  is  built,  the 
little  architect  always  taking  advantage  of  slight 
crevices  and  protuberances  that  may  chance  to 
offer,  to  render  his  structure  stable  by  means  of  a 
kind  of  gripping  and  dovetailing. 

In  choosing  a  building-spot,  concealment  does 
not  seem  to  be  taken  into  consideration ;  yet  not- 
withstanding the  nest  is  large  and  guilelessly  ex- 
posed to  view,  it  is  far  from  being  easily  detected, 
chiefly  because  it  swells  forward  like  any  other 
bulging  moss-cushion  growing  naturally  in  such 
situations.  This  is  more  especially  the  case  where 
the  nest  is  kept  fresh  by  being  well  sprinkled. 
Sometimes  these  romantic  little  huts  have  their 
beauty  enhanced  by  rock-ferns  and  grasses  that 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  291 

spring  up  around  the  mossy  walls,  or  in  front  of 
the  door-sill,  dripping  with  crystal  beads. 

Furthermore,  at  certain  hours  of  the  day,  win  mi 
the  sunshine  is  poured  down  at  the  required  angle, 
the  whole  mass  of  the  spray  enveloping  the  fairy 
establishment  is  brilliantly  irised  ;  and  it  is  through 
so  glorious  a  rainbow  atmosphere  as  this  that  someof 
our  blessed  ouzels  obtain  their  first  peep  at  the  world. 

Ouzels  seem  so  completely  part  and  parcel  of  the 
streams  they  inhabit,  they  scarce  suggest  any 
other  origin  than  the  streams  themselves ;  and  one 
might  almost  be  pardoned  in  fancying  they  come 
direct  from  the  living  waters,  like  flowers  from  the 
ground.  At  least,  from  whatever  cause,  it  never 
occurred  to  me  to  look  for  their  nests  until  more 
than  a  year  after  I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  birds  themselves,  although  I  found  one  the 
very  day  on  which  I  began  the  search.  In  making 
my  way  from  Yosemite  to  the  glaciers  at  the  heads 
of  the  Merced  and  Tuolumne  rivers,  I  camped  in 
a  particularly  wild  and  romantic  portion  of  the 
Nevada  canon  where  in  previous  excursions  I  had 
never  failed  to  enjoy  the  company  of  my  favorites, 
who  were  attracted  here,  no  doubt,  by  the  safe 
nesting-places  in  the  shelving  rocks,  and  by  the 
abundance  of  food  and  falling  water.  The  river, 
for  miles  above  and  below,  consists  of  a  succession 
of  small  falls  from  ten  to  sixty  feet  in  height,  con- 
nected by  flat,  plume-like  cascades  that  go  Hash- 
ing from  fall  to  fall,  free  and  almost  channelless, 
over  waving  folds  of  glacier-polished  granite. 

On  the  south  side  of  one  of  the  falls,  that  por- 
tion of  the  precipice  which  is  bathed  by  the  spray 


292  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFOENIA 

presents  a  series  of  little  shelves  and  tablets  caused 
by  the  development  of  planes  of  cleavage  in  the 
granite,  and  by  the  consequent  fall  of  masses  through 
the  action  of  the  water.  "  Now  here,"  said  I,  "  of 
all  places,  is  the  most  charming  spot  for  an  Ouzel's 
nest."  Then  carefully  scanning  the  fretted  face  of 
the  precipice  through  the  spray,  I  at  length  no- 
ticed a  yellowish  moss-cushion,  growing  on  the 
edge  of  a  level  tablet  within  five  or  six  feet  of  the 
outer  folds  of  the  fall.  But  apart  from  the  fact  of 
its  being  situated  where  one  acquainted  with  the 
lives  of  ouzels  would  fancy  an  Ouzel's  nest  ought 
to  be,  there  was  nothing  in  its  appearance  visible 
at  first  sight,  to  distinguish  it  from  other  bosses  of 
rock-moss  similarly  situated  with  reference  to 
perennial  spray ;  and  it  was  not  until  I  had  scru- 
tinized it  again  and  again,  and  had  removed  my 
shoes  and  stockings  and  crept  along  the  face  of 
the  rock  within  eight  or  ten  feet  of  it,  that  I  could 
decide  certainly  whether  it  was  a  nest  or  a  natural 
growth. 

In  these  moss  huts  three  or  four  eggs  are  laid, 
white  like  foam-bubbles ;  and  well  may  the  little 
birds  hatched  from  them  sing  water  songs,  for 
they  hear  them  all  their  lives,  and  even  before  they 
are  born. 

I  have  often  observed  the  young  just  out  of  the 
nest  making  their  odd  gestures,  and  seeming  in 
every  way  as  much  at  home  as  their  experienced 
parents,  like  young  bees  on  their  first  excursions 
to  the  flower  fields.  No  amount  of  familiarity  with 
people  and  their  ways  seems  to  change  them  in  the 
least.    To  all  appearance  their  behavior  is  just  the 


THE   WATER-OUZEL 


293 


same  on  seeing  a  man  for  the  first  time,  as  when 
they  have  seen  him  frequently. 

On  the  lower  reaches  of  tln>  rivers  where  mills 


Wb&p® 


\  \^\\  >?.  c  % 


are  bnilt,  they  sing 
on  through  the  din 
of  the  machinery, 
and  all  the  noisy 
confusion  of  dogs, 
cattle,  and  work- 
men. On  one 
occasion,  while  a 
wood-chopper  was  at  work  on  the  river-bank,  I  ob- 
served one  cheerily  singing  within  reach  of  the  flying 
chips.  Nor  does  any  kind  of  unwonted  disturbance 
put  him  in  bad  humor,  or  frighten  him  out  of  calm 
self-possession.      In    passing    through 


THE    OUZEL    AT    HOME. 


a    narrow 


294  THE   MOUNTAINS  OP   CALIFOKNIA 

gorge,  I  once  drove  one  ahead  of  me  from  rapid  to 
rapid,  disturbing  him  four  times  in  quick  succes- 
sion where  lie  could  not  very  well  flypast  me  on 
account  of  the  narrowness  of  the  channel.  Most 
birds  under  similar  circumstances  fancy  themselves 
pursued,  and  become  suspiciously  uneasy;  but,  in- 
stead of  growing  nervous  about  it,  he  made  his 
usual  dippings,  and  sang  one  of  his  most  tranquil 
strains.  When  observed  within  a  few  yards  their 
eyes  are  seen  to  express  remarkable  gentleness  and 
intelligence ;  but  they  seldom  allow  so  near  a  view 
unless  one  wears  clothing  of  about  the  same  color 
as  the  rocks  and  trees,  and  knows  how  to  sit  still. 
On  one  occasion,  while  rambling  along  the  shore  of 
a  mountain  lake,  where  the  birds,  at  least  those 
born  that  season,  had  never  seen  a  man,  I  sat  down 
to  rest  on  a  large  stone  close  to  the  water's  edge, 
upon  which  it  seemed  the  ouzels  and  sandpipers 
were  in  the  habit  of  alighting  when  they  came  to 
feed  on  that  part  of  the  shore,  and  some  of  the 
other  birds  also,  when  they  came  down  to  wash  or 
drink.  In  a  few  minutes,  along  came  a  whirring 
Ouzel  and  alighted  on  the  stone  beside  me,  within 
reach  of  my  hand.  Then  suddenly  observing  me, 
he  stooped  nervously  as  if  about  to  fly  on  the  in- 
stant, but  as  I  remained  as  motionless  as  the  stone, 
he  gained  confidence,  and  looked  me  steadily  in  the 
face  for  about  a  minute,  then  flew  quietly  to  the 
outlet  and  began  to  sing.  Next  came  a  sandpiper 
and  gazed  at  me  with  much  the  same  guileless  ex- 
pression of  eye  as  the  Ouzel.  Lastly,  down  with  a 
swoop  came  a  Steller's  jay  out  of  a  fir-tree,  proba- 
bly with   the   intention   of   moistening  his   noisy 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  295 

throat.  But  instead  of  sitting  confidingly  as  my 
other  visitors  had  done,  he  rushed  off  at  once, 
nearly  tumbling  heels  over  head  into  the  lake  in 

his  suspicious  confusion,  and  with  loud  screams 
roused  the  neighborhood. 

Love  for  song-birds,  with  their  sweet  Inn  nan 
voices,  appears  to  be  more  common  and  unfailing 
than  love  for  flowers.  Every  one  loves  flowers  to 
some  extent,  at  least  in  life's  fresh  morning,  at- 
tracted by  them  as  instinctively  as  humming-birds 
and  bees.  Even  the  young  Digger  Indians  have 
sufficient  love  for  the  brightest  of  those  found 
growing  on  the  mountains  to  gather  them  and  braid 
them  as  decorations  for  the  hair.  And  I  was  glad 
to  discover,  through  the  few  Indians  that  could  be 
induced  to  talk  on  the  subject,  that  they  have 
names  for  the  wild  rose  and  the  lily,  and  other  con- 
spicuous flowers,  whether  available  as  food  or  oth- 
erwise.  Most  men,  however,  whether  savage  or 
civilized,  become  apathetic  toward  all  plants  that 
have  no  other  apparent  use  than  the  use  of  beauty. 
But  fortunately  one's  first  instinctive  love  of  song- 
birds is  never  wholly  obliterated,  no  matter  what  1  lie 
influences  upon  our  lives  may  1  >e.  I  have  often  1  >eei l 
delighted  to  see  a  pure,  spiritual  glow  come  into 
the  countenances  of  hard  business-men  and  old 
miners,  when  a  song-bird  chanced  to  alight  near 
them.  Nevertheless,  the  little  mouthful  of  meat 
that  swells  out  the  breasts  of  some  song-birds  is  too 
often  the  cause  of  their  death.  Larks  and  robins 
in  particular  are  brought  to  market  in  hundreds. 
But  fortunately  the  Ouzel  has  no  enemy  so  eager  to 
eat  his  little  body  as  to  follow  him  into  the  moun- 


296  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF   CALIFORNIA 

tain  solitudes.  I  never  knew  him  to  be  chased 
even  by  hawks. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine,  a  sort  of  foot-hill 
mountaineer,  had  a  pet  cat,  a  great,  dozy,  over- 
grown creature,  about  as  broad-shouldered  as  a  lynx. 
During  the  winter,  while  the  snow  lay  deep,  the 
mountaineer  sat  in  his  lonely  cabin  among  the 
pines  smoking  his  pipe  and  wearing  the  dull  time 
away.  Tom  was  his  sole  companion,  sharing  his 
bed,  and  sitting  beside  him  on  a  stool  with  much 
the  same  drowsy  expression  of  eye  as  his  master. 
The  good-natured  bachelor  was  content  with  his 
hard  fare  of  soda-bread  and  bacon,  but  Tom,  the 
only  creature  in  the  world  acknowledging  depen- 
dence on  him,  must  needs  be  provided  with  fresh 
meat.  Accordingly  he  bestirred  himself  to  contrive 
squirrel-traps,  and  waded  the  snowy  woods  with 
his  gun,  making  sad  havoc  among  the  few  winter 
birds,  sparing  neither  robin,  sparrow,  nor  tiny  nut- 
hatch, and  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Tom  eat  and 
grow  fat  was  his  great  reward. 

One  cold  afternoon,  while  hunting  along  the 
river-bank,  he  noticed  a  plain-feathered  little  bird 
skipping  about  in  the  shallows,  and  immediately 
raised  his  gun.  But  just  then  the  confiding  song- 
ster began  to  sing,  and  after  listening  to  his  sum- 
mery melody  the  charmed  hunter  turned  away, 
saying,  "  Bless  your  little  heart,  I  can't  shoot  you, 
not  even  for  Tom." 

Even  so  far  north  as  icy  Alaska,  I  have  found 
my  glad  singer.  When  I  was  exploring  the  gla- 
ciers between  Mount  Fairweather  and  the  Stikeen 
River,  one   cold   day   in  November,  after  trying 


YOSEMITE    BIRDS,    SNOW-BOUND    AT    THE    FOOT    OF    INDIAN    CANON. 


298  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

in  vain  to  force  a  way  through  the  innumerable 
icebergs  of  Sum  Dum  Bay  to  the  great  glaciers  at 
the  head  of  it,  I  was  weary  and  baffled  and  sat 
resting  in  my  canoe  convinced  at  last  that  I  would 
have  to  leave  this  part  of  my  work  for  another 
year.  Then  I  began  to  plan  my  escape  to  open 
water  before  the  young  ice  which  was  beginning  to 
form  should  shut  me  in.  While  I  thus  lingered 
drifting  with  the  bergs,  in  the  midst  of  these 
gloomy  forebodings  and  all  the  terrible  glacial  des- 
olation and  grandeur,  I  suddenly  heard  the  well- 
known  whir  of  an  Ouzel's  wings,  and,  looking  up, 
saw  my  little  comforter  coming  straight  across  the 
ice  from  the  shore.  In  a  second  or  two  he  was 
with  me,  flying  three  times  round  my  head  with  a 
happy  salute,  as  if  saying,  "Cheer  up,  old  friend; 
you  see  I  'm  here,  and  all 's  well."  Then  he  flew 
back  to  the  shore,  alighted  on  the  topmost  jag  of  a 
stranded  iceberg,  and  began  to  nod  and  bow  as 
though  he  were  on  one  of  his  favorite  boulders  in 
the  midst  of  a  sunny  Sierra  cascade.     ■ 

The  species  is  distributed  all  along  the  mountain- 
ranges  of  the  Pacific  Coast  from  Alaska  to  Mexico, 
and  east  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  as  yet  comparatively  little  known.  Audubon 
and  Wilson  did  not  meet  it.  Swainson  was,  I  be- 
lieve, the  first  naturalist  to  describe  a  specimen 
from  Mexico.  Specimens  were  shortly  afterward 
procured  by  Drummond  near  the  sources  of  the 
Athabasca  River,  between  the  fifty-fourth  and 
fifty-sixth  parallels;  and  it  has  been  collected  by 
nearly  all  of  the  numerous  exploring  expeditions 
undertaken  of  late  through  our  Western  States  and 


THE   WATER-OUZEL  299 

Territories;  for  it  never  fails  to  engage  the  atten- 
tion of  naturalists  in  a  very  particular  manner. 

Such,  then,  is  our  little  cinclus,  beloved  of  every 
one  who  is  so  fortunate  as  to  know  him.  Tracing 
on  strong  wing  every  curve  of  the  most  precipitous 
torrents  from  one  extremity  of  the  Sierra  to  the 
other;  not  fearing  to  follow  them  through  their 
darkest  gorges  and  coldest  snow-tunnels;  ac- 
quainted with  every  waterfall,  echoing  their  divine 
music ;  and  throughout  the  whole  of  their  beautiful 
lives  interpreting  all  that  wre  in  our  unbelief  call 
terrible  in  the  utterances  of  torrents  and  storms,  as 
only  varied  expressions  of  God's  eternal  love. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   WILD   SHEEP 
(o-cis  montana) 

THE  wild  sheep  ranks  highest  among  the  ani- 
mal mountaineers  of  the  Sierra.  Possessed  of 
keen  sight  and  scent,  and  strong  limbs,  he  dwells 
secure  amid  the  loftiest  summits,  leaping  unscathed 
from  crag  to  crag,  up  and  down  the  fronts  of  giddy 
precipices,  crossing  foaming  torrents  and  slopes  of 
frozen  snow,  exposed  to  the  wildest  storms,  yet 
maintaining  a  brave,  warm  life,  and  developing 
from  generation  to  generation  in  perfect  strength 
and  beauty. 

Nearly  all  the  lofty  mountain-chains  of  the  globe 
are  inhabited  by  wild  sheep,  most  of  which,  on 
account  of  the  remote  and  all  but  inaccessible 
regions  where  they  dwell,  are  imperfectly  known  as 
yet.  They  are  classified  by  different  naturalists 
under  from  five  to  ten  distinct  species  or  varieties, 
the  best  known  being  the  burrhel  of  the  Himalaya 
(Ovis  burrhel,  Blyth);  the  argali,  the  large  wild 
sheep  of  central  and  northeastern  Asia  (0.  ammon, 
Linn.,  or  Caprovis  argali);  the  Corsican  mouflon 
(0.  musimon,  Pal.);  the  aoudad  of  the  mountains  of 
northern  Africa  (Ammotragus  tragelaphus);  and 
the  Rocky  Mountain  bighorn  (0.  montana,  Cuv.). 


THE   WILD   SHEEP  301 

To  this  last-named  species  belongs  the  wild  sheep 
of  the  Sierra.  Its  range,  according  to  the  late  Pro- 
fessor Baird  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  extends 
"  from  the  region  of  the  upper  Missouri  and  Yel- 
lowstone to  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  high 
grounds  adjacent  to  them  on  the  eastern  slope,  and 
as  far  south  as  the  Rio  Grande.  Westward  it  ex- 
tends to  the  coast  ranges  of  Washington,  Oregon, 
and  California,  and  follows  the  highlands  some  dis- 
tance into  Mexico."  1  Throughout  the  vast  region 
bounded  on  the  east  by  the  Wahsatch  Mountains 
and  on  the  west  by  the  Sierra  there  are  more  than  a 
hundred  subordinate  ranges  and  mountain  groups, 
trending  north  and  south,  range  beyond  range,  with 
summits  rising  from  eight  to  twelve  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  probably  all  of  which, 
according  to  my  own  observations,  is,  or  has  been, 
inhabited  by  this  species. 

Compared  with  the  argali,  which,  considering  its 
size  and  the  vast  extent  of  its  range,  is  probably 
the  most  important  of  all  the  wild  sheep,  our 
species  is  about  the  same  size,  but  the  horns  are 
less  twisted  and  less  divergent.  The  more  im- 
portant characteristics  are,  however,  essentially  the 
same,  some  of  the  best  naturalists  maintaining  that 
the  two  are  only  varied  forms  of  one  species.  In 
accordance  with  this  view,  Cuvier  conjectures  that 
since  central  Asia  seems  to  be  the  region  where 
the  sheep  first  appeared,  and  from  which  it  has 
been  distributed,  the  argali  may  have  been  dis- 
tributed over  this  continent  from  Asia  by  crossing 
Bering  Strait  on  ice.     This  conjecture  is  not  so  ill 

1  Pacific  Railroad  Survey,  Vol.  VHI,  page  678. 


302  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

founded  as  at  first  sight  would  appear;  for  the 
Strait  is  only  about  fifty  miles  wide,  is  interrupted 
by  three  islands,  and  is  jammed  with  ice  nearly 
every  winter.  Furthermore  the  argali  is  abundant 
on  the  mountains  adjacent  to  the  Strait  at  East 
Cape,  where  it  is  well  known  to  the  Tsclmckchi 
hunters  and  where  I  have  seen  many  of  their  horns. 

On  account  of  the  extreme  variability  of  the 
sheep  under  culture,  it  is  generally  supposed  that 
the  innumerable  domestic  breeds  have  all  been 
derived  from  the  few  wild  species;  but  the  whole 
question  is  involved  in  obscurity.  According  to 
Darwin,  sheep  have  been  domesticated  from  a  very 
ancient  period,  the  remains  of  a  small  breed,  differ- 
ing from  any  now  known,  having  been  found  in  the 
famous  Swiss  lake-dwellings. 

Compared  with  the  best-known  domestic  breeds, 
we  find  that  our  wild  species  is  much  larger,  and, 
instead  of  an  all-wool  garment,  wears  a  thick  over- 
coat of  hair  like  that  of  the  deer,  and  an  under- 
covering  of  fine  wool.  The  hair,  though  rather 
coarse,  is  comfortably  soft  and  spongy,  and  lies 
smooth,  as  if  carefully  tended  with  comb  and 
brush.  The  predominant  color  during  most  of  the 
year  is  brownish-gray,  varying  to  bluish-gray  in 
the  autumn ;  the  belly  and  a  large,  conspicuous 
patch  on  the  buttocks  are  white;  and  the  tail, 
which  is  very  short,  like  that  of  a  deer,  is  black, 
with  a  yellowish  border.  The  wool  is  white,  and 
grows  in  beautiful  spirals  down  out  of  sight  among 
the  shining  hair,  like  delicate  climbing  vines  among 
stalks  of  corn. 

The  horns  of  the  male  are  of  immense  size,  mea- 


THE  WILD   SHEEP  303 

suiing  in  their  greater  diameter  from  five  to  six 
and  a  half  inches,  and  from  two  and  a  half  to  three 
feet  in  length  around  the  curve.  They  are  yellow- 
ish-white in  color,  and  ridged  transversely,  like 
those  of  the  domestic  ram.  Their  cross-section 
near  the  base  is  somewhat  triangular  in  outline, 
and  flattened  toward  the  tip.  Rising  boldly  from 
the  top  of  the  head,  they  curve  gently  backward 
and  outward,  then  forward  and  outward,  until 
about  three  fourths  of  a  circle  is  described,  and 
until  the  flattened,  blunt  tips  are  about  two  feet  or 
two  and  a  half  feet  apart.  Those  of  the  female  are 
flattened  throughout  their  entire  length,  are  less 
curved  than  those  of  the  male,  and  much  smaller, 
measuring  less  than  a  foot  along  the  curve. 

A  ram  and  ewe  that  I  obtained  near  the  Modoc 
lava-beds,  to  the  northeast  of  Mount  Shasta,  mea- 
sured as  follows : 

Ram.  Ewe. 

ft.   in.         ft.   in. 

Height  at  shoulders 3G  3  0 

Girth  around  shoulders 3  11  3  3f 

Length  from  nose  to  root  of  tail 5  10^  4  3  A 

Length  of  ears 0    4f  0  5 

Length  of  tail 0    4£  0  4£ 

Length  of  horns  around  curve 2     9  0  11£ 

Distance  across  from  tip  to  tip  of  horns  .    .  2     5A 

Circumference  of  horns  at  base 14  0  G 

The  measurements  of  a  male  obtained  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  by  Audubon  vary  but  little  as 
compared  with  the  above.  The  weight  of  his  speci- 
men was  344  pounds,1  which  is,  perhaps,  about  an 

1  Audubon  and  Bachman's  "Quadrupeds  of  North  America." 


304  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

average  for  full-grown  males.  The  females  are 
about  a  third  lighter. 

Besides  these  differences  in  size,  color,  hair,  etc., 
as  noted  above,  we  may  observe  that  the  domestic 
sheep,  in  a  general  way,  is  expressionless,  like  a 
dull  bundle  of  something  only  half  alive,  while  the 
wild  is  as  elegant  and  graceful  as  a  deer,  every  move- 
ment manifesting  admirable  strength  and  charac- 
ter. The  tame  is  timid;  the  wild  is  bold.  The  tame 
is  always  more  or  less  ruffled  and  dirty ;  while  the 
wild  is  as  smooth  and  clean  as  the  flowers  of  his 
mountain  pastures. 

The  earliest  mention  that  I  have  been  able  to 
find  of  the  wild  sheep  in  America  is  by  Father 
Picolo,  a  Catholic  missionary  at  Monterey,  in  the 
year  1797,  who,  after  describing  it,  oddly  enough, 
as  "a  kind  of  deer  with  a  sheep-like  head,  and  about 
as  large  as  a  calf  one  or  two  years  old,"  naturally 
hurries  on  to  remark:  "I  have  eaten  of  these  beasts; 
their  flesh  is  very  tender  and  delicious."  Mackenzie, 
in  his  northern  travels,  heard  the  species  spoken  of 
by  the  Indians  as  "white  buffaloes."  And  Lewis 
and  Clark  tell  us  that,  in  a  time  of  great  scarcity  on 
the  head  waters  of  the  Missouri,  they  saw  plenty  of 
wild  sheep,  but  they  were  "too  shy  to  be  shot." 

A  few  of  the  more  energetic  of  the  Pah  Ute  In- 
dians hunt  the  wild  sheep  every  season  among  the 
more  accessible  sections  of  the  High  Sierra,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  passes,  where,  from  having  been 
pursued,  they  have  become  extremely  wary ;  but  in 
the  rugged  wilderness  of  peaks  and  canons,  where 
the  foaming  tributaries  of  the  San  Joaquin  and 
King's  rivers  take  their  rise,  they  fear  no  hunter 


THE  WILD   SHEEP  305 

save  the  wolf,  and  are  more  guileless  and  approach- 
able than  their  tame  kindred. 

While  engaged  in  the  work  of  exploring  high  re- 
gions where  they  delight  to  roam  I  have  been  greatly 
interested  in  studying  their  habits.  In  the  months 
of  November  and  December,  and  probably  during 
a  considerable  portion  of  midwinter,  they  all  flock 
together,  male  and  female,  old  and  young.  I  once 
found  a  complete  band  of  this  kind  numbering  up- 
ward of  fifty,  which,  on  being  alarmed,  went  bound- 
ing away  across  a  jagged  lava-bed  at  admirable 
speed,  led  by  a  majestic  old  ram,  with  the  lambs 
safe  in  the  middle  of  the  flock. 

In  spring  and  summer,  the  full-grown  rams  form 
separate  bands  of  from  three  to  twenty,  and  arc 
usually  found  feeding  along  the  edges  of  glacier 
meadows,  or  resting  among  the  castle-like  crags  of 
the  high  summits ;  and  whether  quietly  feeding,  or 
scaling  the  wild  cliffs,  their  noble  forms  and  the 
power  and  beauty  of  their  movements  never  fail 
to  strike  the  beholder  with  lively  admiration. 

Their  resting-places  seem  to  be  chosen  with  ref- 
erence to  sunshine  and  a  wide  outlook,  and  most 
of  all  to  safety.  Their  feeding-grounds  are  among 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  wild  gardens,  bright  with 
daisies  and  gentians  and  mats  of  purple  bryan- 
thus,  lying  hidden  away  on  rocky  headlands  and 
canon  sides,  where  sunshine  is  abundant,  or  down 
in  the  shady  glacier  valleys,  along  the  banks  of 
the  streams  and  lakes,  where  the  plushy  sod  is 
greenest.  Here  they  feast  all  summer,  the  happy 
wanderers,  perhaps  relishing  the  beauty  as  well  as 
the  taste  of  the  lovely  flora  on  which  they  feed. 


306 


THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 


"When  the  winter  storms  set  in,  loading  their 
highland  pastures  with  snow,  then,  like  the  birds, 


SNOW-BOUND    ON    MOUNT    SHASTA. 


they  gather  and  go  to  lower  climates,  usually  de- 
scending the  eastern  flank  of  the  range  to  the  rough, 
volcanic    table-lands  and   treeless  ranges   of  the 


THE   WILD   SHEEP  307 

Great  Basin  adjacent  to  the  Sierra.  They  never 
make  haste,  however,  and  seem  to  have  no  dread 
of.  storms,  many  of  the  strongest  only  going  down 
leisurely  to  bare,  wind-swept  ridges,  to  feed  on 
bushes  and  dry  bunch-grass,  and  then  returning  up 
into  the  snow.  Once  I  was  snow-bound  on  Mount 
Shasta  for  three  days,  a  little  below  the  timber  line. 
It  was  a  dark  and  stormy  time,  well  calculated  to 
test  the  skill  and  endurance  of  mountaineers.  The 
snow-laden  gale  drove  on  night  and  day  in  hissing, 
blinding  floods,  and  when  at  length  it  began  to 
abate,  I  found  that  a  small  band  of  wild  sheep  had 
weathered  the  storm  in  the  lee  of  a  clump  of  Dwarf 
Pines  a  few  yards  above  my  storm-nest,  where  the 
snow  was  eight  or  ten  feet  deep.  I  was  warm  back 
of  a  rock,  with  blankets,  bread,  and  fire.  My  brave 
companions  lay  in  the  snow,  without  food,  and  with 
only  the  partial  shelter  of  the  short  trees,  yet  they 
made  no  sign  of  suffering  or  faint-heartedness. 

In  the  months  of  May  and  June,  the  wild  sheep 
bring  forth  their  young  in  solitary  and  almost  inac- 
cessible crags,  far  above  the  nesting-rocks  of  the 
eagle.  I  have  frequently  come  upon  the  beds  of  the 
ewes  and  lambs  at  an  elevation  of  from  12,000  to 
13,000  feet  above  sea-level.  These  beds  are  simply 
oval-shaped  hollows,  pawed  out  among  loose,  disin- 
tegrating rock-chips  and  sand,  upon  some  sunny 
spot  commanding  a  good  outlook,  and  partially  shel- 
tered from  the  winds  that  sweep  those  lofty  peaks 
almost  without  intermission.  Such  is  the  cradle  of 
the  little  mountaineer,  aloft  in  the  very  sky ;  rocked 
in  storms,  curtained  in  clouds,  sleeping  in  thin,  icy 
air ;  but,  wrapped  in  his  hairy  coat,  and  nourished 


308  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

by  a  strong,  warm  mother,  defended  from  the  talons 
of  the  eagle  and  the  teeth  of  the  sly  coyote,  the  bonny 
lamb  grows  apace.  He  soon  learns  to  nibble  the 
tuf ted  rock-grasses  and  leaves  of  the  white  spiraea ; 
his  horns  begin  to  shoot,  and  before  summer  is 
done  he  is  strong  and  agile,  and  goes  forth  with  the 
flock,  watched  by  the  same  divine  love  that  tends 
the  more  helpless  human  lamb  in  its  cradle  by  the 
fireside. 

Nothing  is  more  commonly  remarked  by  noisy, 
dusty  trail-travelers  in  the  Sierra  than  the  want  of 
animal  life — no  song-birds,  no  deer,  no  squirrels, 
no  game  of  any  kind,  they  say.  But  if  such  could 
only  go  away  quietly  into  the  wilderness,  saunter- 
ing afoot  and  alone  with  natural  deliberation,  they 
would  soon  learn  that  these  mountain  mansions  are 
not  without  inhabitants,  many  of  whom,  confiding 
and  gentle,  would  not  try  to  shun  their  acquaintance. 

In  the  fall  of  1873  I  was  tracing  the  South  Fork 
of  the  San  Joaquin  up  its  wild  canon  to  its  farth- 
est glacier  fountains.  It  was  the  season  of  alpine 
Indian  summer.  The  sun  beamed  lovingly;  the 
squirrels  were  nutting  in  the  pine-trees,  butterflies 
hovered  about  the  last  of  the  goldenrods,  the  wil- 
low and  maple  thickets  were  yellow,  the  meadows 
brown,  and  the  whole  sunny,  mellow  landscape 
glowed  like  a  countenance  in  the  deepest  and 
sweetest  repose.  On  my  way  over  the  glacier-pol- 
ished rocks  along  the  river,  I  came  to  an  expanded 
portion  of  the  canon,  about  two  miles  long  and  half 
a  mile  wide,  which  formed  a  level  park  inclosed 
with  picturesque  granite  walls  like  those  of  Yo- 
semite  Valley.      Down  through  the  middle  of  it 


THE  WILD   SHEEP 


309 


poured  the  beautiful  river  shining  and  spangling 
in  the  golden  light,  yellow  groves  on  its  banks,  and 
strips  of  brown  meadow ;  while  the  whole  park  was 
astir  with  wild  life,  some  of  which  even  the  noisiest 


j-Cfiu*} 


HEAD    OF    THE    MERINO    RAM    (DOMESTIC). 

and  least  observing  of  travelers  must  have  seen  had 
they  been  with  me.  Deer,  with  their  supple,  well- 
grown  fawns,  bounded  from  thicket  to  thicket  as  I 
advanced  ;  grouse  kept  rising  from  the  brown  grass 
with  a  great  whirring  of  wings,  and,  alighting  on 


310  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

the  lower  branches  of  the  pines  and  poplars,  al- 
lowed a  near  approach,  as  if  curions  to  see  me. 
Farther  on,  a  broad-shonldered  wildcat  showed 
himself,  coming  out  of  a  grove,  and  crossing  the 
river  on  a  flood-jamb  of  logs,  halting  for  a  moment 
to  look  back.  The  bird-like  tamias  frisked  about 
my  feet  everywhere  among  the  pine-needles  and 
seedy  grass-tufts ;  cranes  waded  the  shallows  of  the 
river-bends,  the  kingfisher  rattled  from  perch  to 
perch,  and  the  blessed  ouzel  sang  amid  the  spray 
of  every  cascade.  Where  may  lonely  wanderer 
find  a  more  interesting  family  of  mountain-dwell- 
ers, earth-born  companions  and  fellow-mortals  ? 
It  was  afternoon  when  I  joined  them,  and  the  glo- 
rious landscape  began  to  fade  in  the  gloaming  be- 
fore I  awoke  from  their  enchantment.  Then  I 
sought  a  camp-ground  on  the  river-bank,  made  a 
cupful  of  tea,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  on  a  smooth 
place  among  the  yellow  leaves  of  an  aspen  grove. 
Next  day  I  discovered  yet  grander  landscapes  and 
grander  life.  Following  the  river  over  huge,  swell- 
ing rock-bosses  through  a  majestic  canon,  and  past 
innumerable  cascades,  the  scenery  in  general  be- 
came gradually  wilder  and  more  alpine.  The  Su- 
gar Pine  and  Silver  Firs  gave  place  to  the  hardier 
Cedar  and  Hemlock  Spruce.  The  canon  walls  be- 
came more  rugged  and  bare,  and  gentians  and  arc- 
tic daisies  became  more  abundant  in  the  gardens 
and  strips  of  meadow  along  the  streams.  Toward 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  came  to  another  val- 
ley, strikingly  wild  and  original  in  all  its  features, 
and  perhaps  never  before  touched  by  human  foot. 
As  regards  area  of  level  bottom-land,  it  is  one  of 


THE  WILD   SHEEP 


311 


the  very  smallest  of  the  Yosemite  type,  but  its  walls 
are  sublime,  rising  to  a  height  of  from  2000  to  4000 
feet  above  the  river.  At  the  head  of  the  valley 
the  main  canon  forks,  as  is  found  to  be  the  case  in 
all  yosemites.     The  formation  of  this  one  is  due 


chiefly  to  the  action  of  two  great  glaciers,  whose 
fountains  lay  to  the  eastward,  on  the  flanks  of 
Mounts  Humphrey  and  Emerson  and  a  cluster  of 
nameless  peaks  farther  south. 


312  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

The  gray,  boulder-chaf  ed  river  was  singing  loudly 
through  the  valley,  but  above  its  massy  roar  I 
heard  the  booming  of  a  waterfall,  which  drew  me 
eagerly  on ;  and  just  as  I  emerged  from  the  tangled 
groves  and  brier-thickets  at  the  head  of  the  valley, 
the  main  fork  of  the  river  came  in  sight,  falling 
fresh  from  its  glacier  fountains  in  a  snowy  cas- 
cade, between  granite  walls  2000  feet  high.  The 
steep  incline  down  which  the  glad  waters  thundered 
seemed  to  bar  all  farther  progress.  It  was  not 
long,  however,  before  I  discovered  a  crooked  seam 
in  the  rock,  by  which  I  was  enabled  to  climb  to 
the  edge  of  a  terrace  that  crosses  the  canon,  and 
divides  the  cataract  nearly  in  the  middle.  Here 
I  sat  down  to  take  breath  and  make  some  entries 
in  my  note-book,  taking  advantage,  at  the  same 
time,  of  my  elevated  position  above  the  trees  to 
gaze  back  over  the  valley  into  the  heart  of  the 
noble  landscape,  little  knowing  the  while  what 
neighbors  were  near. 

After  spending  a  few  minutes  in  this  way,  I 
chanced  to  look  across  the  fall,  and  there  stood 
three  sheep  quietly  observing  me.  Never  did  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  mountain,  or  fall,  or  hu- 
man friend  more  forcibly  seize  and  rivet  my  at- 
tention. Anxiety  to  observe  accurately  held  me 
perfectly  still.  Eagerly  I  marked  the  flowing  un- 
dulations of  their  firm,  braided  muscles,  their 
strong  legs,  ears,  eyes,  heads,  their  graceful  rounded 
necks,  the  color  of  their  hair,  and  the  bold,  up- 
sweeping curves  of  their  noble  horns.  When  they 
moved  I  watched  every  gesture,  while  they,  in  no 
wise  disconcerted  either  by  my  attention  or  by  the 


THE   WILD    SHEEP  313 

tumultuous  roar  of  the  water,  advanced  deliberately 
alongside  the  rapids,  between  the  two  divisions  of 
the  cataract,  turning  now  and  then  to  look  at  me. 
Presently  they  came  to  a  steep,  ice-burnished  ac- 
clivity, which  they  ascended  by  a  succession  of 
quick,  short,  stiff-legged  leaps,  reaching  the  top 
without  a  struggle.  This  was  the  most  startling 
feat  of  mountaineering  I  had  ever  witnessed,  and, 
considering  only  the  mechanics  of  the  thing,  my 
astonishment  could  hardly  have  been  greater  had 
they  displayed  wings  and  taken  to  flight.  "Sure- 
footed" mules  on  such  ground  would  have  fallen 
and  rolled  like  loosened  boulders.  Many  a  time, 
where  the  slopes  are  far  lower,  I  have  been  com- 
pelled to  take  off  my  shoes  and  stockings,  tie  them 
to  my  belt,  and  creep  barefooted,  with  the  utmost 
caution.  No  wonder  then,  that  I  watched  the 
progress  of  these  animal  mountaineers  with  keen 
sympathy,  and  exulted  in  the  boundless  sufficiency 
of  wild  nature  displayed  in  their  invention,  con- 
struction, and  keeping.  A  few  minutes  later  I 
caught  sight  of  a  dozen  more  in  one  band,  near  the 
foot  of  the  upper  fall.  They  were  standing  on  the 
same  side  of  the  river  with  me,  only  twenty-five  or 
thirty  yards  away,  looking  as  unworn  and  perfect 
as  if  created  on  the  spot.  It  appeared  by  their 
tracks,  which  I  had  seen  in  the  Little  Yosemite, 
and  by  their  present  position,  that  when  I  came  up 
the  canon  they  were  all  feeding  together  down  in  the 
valley,  and  in  their  haste  to  reach  high  ground, where 
they  could  look  about  them  to  ascertain  the  nature 
of  the  strange  disturbance,  they  were  divided,  three 
ascending  on  one  side  the  river,  the  rest  on  the  other. 


314 


THE   MOUNTAINS    OF   CALIFORNIA 


CROSSING    A    CANON    STREAM. 


The  main  band,  headed  by  an  experienced  chief, 
now  began  to  cross  the  wild  rapids  between  the 
two  divisions  of  the  cascade.     This  was  another 


THE  WILD   SHEEP  315 

exciting  feat;  for,  among  all  the  varied  experiences 
of  mountaineers,  the  crossing  of  boisterous,  rock- 
dashed  torrents  is  found  to  be  one  of  the  most 
trying  to  the  nerves.  Yet  these  fine  fellows  walked 
fearlessly  to  the  brink,  and  jumped  from  boulder 
to  boulder,  holding  themselves  in  easy  poise  above 
the  whirling,  confusing  current,  as  if  they  were 
doing  nothing  extraordinary. 

In  the  immediate  foreground  of  this  rare  picture 
there  was  a  fold  of  ice-burnished  granite,  traversed 
by  a  few  bold  lines  in  which  rock-ferns  and  tufts  of 
bryanthus  were  growing,  the  gray  canon  walls  on 
the  sides,  nobly  sculptured  and  adorned  with  brown 
cedars  and  pines ;  lofty  peaks  in  the  distance,  and 
in  the  middle  ground  the  snowy  fall,  the  voice  and 
soul  of  the  landscape ;  fringing  bushes  beating  time 
to  its  thunder-tones,  the  brave  sheep  in  front  of  it, 
their  gray  forms  slightly  obscured  in  the  spray,  yet 
standing  out  in  good,  heavy  relief  against  the  close 
white  water,  with  their  huge  horns  rising  like  the 
upturned  roots  of  dead  pine-trees,  while  the  even- 
ing sunbeams  streaming  up  the  canon  colored  all  the 
picture  a  rosy  purple  and  made  it  glorious.  After 
crossing  the  river,  the  dauntless  climbers,  led  by 
their  chief,  at  once  began  to  scale  the  canon  wall, 
turning  now  right,  now  left,  in  long,  single  file, 
keeping  well  apart  out  of  one  another's  way,  and 
leaping  in  regular  succession  from  crag  to  crag, 
now  ascending  slippery  dome-curves,  now  walking 
leisurely  along  the  edges  of  precipices,  stopping  at 
times  to  gaze  down  at  me  from  some  flat-topped 
rock,  with  heads  held  aslant,  as  if  curious  to  leam 
what  I  thought  about  it,  or  whether  I  was  likely  to 


31G  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFOKNIA 

follow  them.  After  reaching  the  top  of  the  wall, 
which,  at  this  place,  is  somewhere  between  1500 
and  2000  feet  high,  they  were  still  visible  against 
Ihc  sky  as  they  lingered,  looking  down  in  groups 
of  twos  or  threes. 

Throughout  the  entire  ascent  they  did  not  make 
a  single  awkward  step,  or  an  unsuccessful  effort  of 
any  kind.  I  have  frequently  seen  tame  sheep  in 
mountains  jump  upon  a  sloping  rock-surface,  hold 
on  tremulously  a  few  seconds,  and  fall  back  baffled 
and  irresolute.  But  in  the  most  trying  situations, 
where  the  slightest  want  or  inaccuracy  would  have 
been  fatal,  these  always  seemed  to  move  in  comfort- 
able reliance  on  their  strength  and  skill,  the  limits 
of  which  they  never  appeared  to  know.  Moreover, 
each  one  of  the  flock,  while  following  the  guidance 
of  the  most  experienced,  yet  climbed  with  intelli- 
gent independence  as  a  perfect  individual,  capable 
of  separate  existence  whenever  it  should  wish  or  be 
compelled  to  withdraw  from  the  little  clan.  The 
domestic  sheep,  on  the  contrary,  is  only  a  fraction 
of  an  animal,  a  whole  flock  being  required  to  form 
an  individual,  just  as  numerous  flowerets  are  re- 
quired to  make  one  complete  sunflower. 

Those  shepherds  who,  in  summer,  drive  their 
flocks  to  the  mountain  pastures,  and,  while  watch- 
ing them  night  and  day,  have  seen  them  frightened 
by  bears  and  storms,  and  scattered  like  wind- 
driven  chaff,  will,  in  some  measure,  be  able  to  ap- 
preciate the  self-reliance  and  strength  and  noble 
individuality  of  Nature's  sheep. 

Like  the  Alp-climbing  ibex  of  Europe,  our  moun- 
taineer is  said  to  plunge  headlong  down  the  faces 


THE  WILD   SHEEP  317 

of  sheer  precipices,  and  alight  on  his  big  horns. 
I  know  only  two  hunters  who  claim  to  have  actu- 
ally witnessed  this  feat;  I  never  was  so  fortunate 
They  describe  the  act  as  a  diving  head-foremost. 
The  horns  are  so  large  at  the  base  that  they  cover 
the  upper  portion  of  the  head  down  nearly  to  a 
level  with  the  eyes,  and  the  skull  is  exceedingly 
strong.  I  struck  an  old,  bleached  specimen  on 
Mount  Ritter  a  dozen  blows  with  my  ice-ax  with- 
out breaking  it.  Such  skulls  would  not  fracture 
very  readily  by  the  wildest  rock-diving,  but  other 
bones  could  hardly  be  expected  to  hold  together  in 
such  a  performance;  and  the  mechanical  difficul- 
ties in  the  way  of  controlling  their  movements, 
after  striking  upon  an  irregular  surface,  are,  in 
themselves,  sufficient  to  show  this  boulder-like 
method  of  progression  to  be  impossible,  even  in 
the  absence  of  all  other  evidence  on  the  subject; 
moreover,  the  ewes  follow  wherever  the  rams  may 
lead,  although  their  horns  are  mere  spikes.  I  have 
found  many  pairs  of  the  horns  of  the  old  rams  con- 
siderably battered,  doubtless  a  result  of  fighting. 
I  was  particularly  interested  in  the  question,  after 
witnessing  the  performances  of  this  San  Joaquin 
band  upon  the  glaciated  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the 
falls;  and  as  soon  as  I  procured  specimens  and 
examined  their  feet,  all  the  mystery  disappeared. 
The  secret,  considered  in  connection  with  excep- 
tionally strong  muscles,  is  simply  this:  the  wide 
posterior  portion  of  the  bottom  of  the  foot,  i  listen  I 
of  wearing  down  and  becoming  flat  and  hard,  like 
the  feet  of  tame  sheep  and  horses,  bulges  out  in  a 
soft,  rubber-like  pad  or  cushion,  which  not  only 


318  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

grips  and  holds  well  on  smooth  rocks,  but  fits  into 
small  cavities,  and  down  npon  or  against  slight 
protuberances.  Even  the  hardest  portions  of  the 
edge  of  the  hoof  are  comparatively  soft  and  elastic; 
furthermore,  the  toes  admit  of  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  both  lateral  and  vertical  movement,  al- 
lowing the  foot  to  accommodate  itself  still  more  per- 
fectly to  the  irregularities  of  rock  surfaces,  while 
at  the  same  time  increasing  the  gripping  power. 

At  the  base  of  Sheep  Rock,  one  of  the  winter 
strongholds  of  the  Shasta  flocks,  there  lives  a  stock- 
raiser  who  has  had  the  advantage  of  observing  the 
movements  of  wild  sheep  every  winter;  and,  in 
the  course  of  a  conversation  with  him  on  the  sub- 
ject of  their  diving  habits,  he  pointed  to  the  front 
of  a  lava  headland  about  150  feet  high,  which  is 
only  eight  or  ten  degrees  out  of  the  perpendicular. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  I  followed  a  band  of  them  fel- 
lows to  the  back  of  that  rock  yonder,  and  expected 
to  capture  them  all,  for  I  thought  I  had  a  dead 
thing  on  them.  I  got  behind  them  on  a  narrow 
bench  that  runs  along  the  face  of  the  wall  near  the 
top  and  comes  to  an  end  where  they  could  n't  get 
away  without  falling  and  being  killed ;  but  they 
jumped  off,  and  landed  all  right,  as  if  that  were  the 
regular  thing  with  them." 

"  What ! "  said  I,  "  jumped  150  feet  perpendicular! 
Did  you  see  them  do  it  ? " 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  did  n't  see  them  going 
down,  for  I  was  behind  them ;  but  I  saw  them  go 
off  over  the  brink,  and  then  I  went  below  and  found 
their  tracks  where  they  struck  on  the  loose  rub- 
bish at  the  bottom.     They  just  sailed  right  off,  and 


THE   WILD    SHEEP 


319 


lauded  on  their  feet 
viglit  side  up.  That 
is  the  kind  of  animal 
they  is — beats  any- 
thing else  that  goes 
on  four  legs." 

On  another  occa- 
sion, a  flock  that  was 
pursued  by  hunters 
retreated  to  another 
portion  of  this  same 
°iiff  where  it  is  still 
nigher,  and,  on  being 
yollowed,  they  were 
«een  jumping  down 
in  perfect  order,  one 
oehind  another,  by 
two  men  who  hap- 
pened to  be  chop- 
ping where  they  had 
a  fair  view  of  them 
and  could  watch 
their  progress  from 
top  to  bottom  of 
the  precipice.  Both 
ewes  and  rams  made 
the  frightful  descent 
withoutevincingany 
extraordinary  con- 
cern, hugging  the 
rock  closely, andcon- 
trolling  the  velocity 


01  tHeir  half  falling,     WILD  SHEEP  JUMPING  OVER  A  PRECIPICE. 


320  THE  MOUNTAINS   OP   CALIFOENIA 

half  leaping  movements  by  striking  at  short  in- 
tervals and  holding  baek  with  their  cushioned, 
rubber  feet  upon  small  ledges  and  roughened  in- 
clines until  near  the  bottom,  when  they  "  sailed  off  r 
into  the  free  air  and  alighted  on  their  feet,  but 
with  their  bodies  so  nearly  in  a  vertical  position 
that  they  appeared  to  be  diving. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  methods  of  this 
wild  mountaineering  become  clearly  comprehensi- 
ble as  soon  as  we  make  ourselves  acquainted  with 
the  rocks,  and  the  kind  of  feet  and  muscles  brought 
to  bear  upon  them. 

The  Modoc  and  Pah  Ute  Indians  are,  or  rather 
have  been,  the  most  successful  hunters  of  the  wila 
sheep  in  the  regions  that  have  come  under  my  own 
observation.  I  have  seen  large  numbers  of  heads 
and  horns  in  the  caves  of  Mount  Shasta  and  the 
Modoc  lava-beds,  where  the  Indians  had  been  feast- 
ing in  stormy  weather ;  also  in  the  canons  of  the 
Sierra  opposite  Owen's  Valley ;  while  the  heavy  ob- 
sidian arrow-heads  found  on  some  of  the  highest 
peaks  show  that  this  warfare  has  long  been  going  on.. 

In  the  more  accessible  ranges  that  stretch  across 
the  desert  regions  of  western  Utah  and  Nevada, 
considerable  numbers  of  Indians  used  to  hunt  in 
company  like  packs  of  wolves,  and  being  perfectly 
acquainted  with  the  topography  of  their  hunting- 
grounds,  and  with  the  habits  and  instincts  of  the 
game,  they  were  pretty  successful.  On  the  tops  of 
nearly  every  one  of  the  Nevada  mountains  that  I 
have  visited,  I  found  small,  nest-like  inclosures  built 
of  stones,  in  which,  as  I  afterward  learned,  one  or 
more  Indians  would  lie  in  wait  while  their  compan- 


THE   WILD   SHEEP 


321 


ions  scoured  the  ridges  below,  knowing  that  fche 
alarmed  sheep  would  surely  run  to  the  summit,  and 
when  they  could  be  made  to  approach  with  the  wind 
they  were  shot  at  short  range. 


A* 


m:^ 


INDIANS    HUNTING     WILD     BHEE 


Still  larger  bands  of  Indians  used  to  make  exten- 
sive hunts  upon  some  dominant  mountain  much  fre- 
quented by  the  sheep,  such  as  Mount  Grant  on  the 
Wassuck  Range  to  the  west  of  Walker  Lake.    On 


322  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

some  particular  spot,  favorably  situated  with  ref- 
erence to  the  well-known  trails  of  the  sheep,  they 
built  a  high-walled  corral,  with  long  guiding  wings 
diverging  from  the  gateway ;  and  into  this  inclos- 
ure  they  sometimes  succeeded  in  driving  the  noble 
game.  Great  numbers  of  Indians  were  of  course  re- 
quired,  more,  indeed,  than  they  could  usually  mus- 
ter, counting  in  squaws,  children,  and  all;  they  were 
compelled,  therefore,  to  build  rows  of  dummy  hun- 
ters out  of  stones,  along  the  ridge-tops  which  they 
wished  to  prevent  the  sheep  from  crossing.  And, 
without  discrediting  the  sagacity  of  the  game,  these 
dummies  were  found  effective ;  for,  with  a  few  live 
Indians  moving  about  excitedly  among  them,  they 
could  hardly  be  distinguished  at  a  little  distance 
from  men,  by  any  one  not  in  the  secret.  The  whole 
ridge-top  then  seemed  to  be  alive  with  hunters. 

The  only  animal  that  may  fairly  be  regarded 
as  a  companion  or  rival  of  the  sheep  is  the  so- 
called  Rocky  Mountain  goat  (Aplocerus  montana, 
Rich.),  which,  as  its  name  indicates,  is  more  ante- 
lope than  goat.  He,  too,  is  a  brave  and  hardy 
climber,  fearlessly  crossing  the  wildest  summits, 
and  braving  the  severest  storms,  but  he  is  shaggy, 
short-legged,  and  much  less  dignified  in  demeanor 
than  the  sheep.  His  jet-black  horns  are  only  about 
five  or  six  inches  in  length,  and  the  long,  white  hair 
with  which  he  is  covered  obscures  the  expression 
of  his  limbs.  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  single  speci- 
men in  the  Sierra,  though  possibly  a  few  flocks 
may  have  lived  on  Mount  Shasta  a  comparatively 
short  time  ago. 

The  ranges  of  these  two  mountaineers  are  pretty 


THE   WILD   SHEEP  323 

distinct,  and  they  see  but  little  of  each  other ;  the 
sheep  being  restricted  mostly  to  the  dry,  inland 
mountains ;  the  goat  or  chamois  to  the  wet,  snowy 
glacier-laden  mountains  of  the  northwest  coast 
of  the  continent  in  Oregon,  Washington,  British 
Columbia,  and  Alaska.  Probably  more  than  200 
dwell  on  the  icy,  volcanic  cone  of  Mount  Rainier ; 
and  while  I  was  exploring  the  glaciers  of  Alaska  I 
saw  flocks  of  these  admirable  mountaineers  nearly 
every  day,  and  often  followed  their  trails  through 
the  mazes  of  bewildering  crevasses,  in  which  they 
are  excellent  guides. 

Three  species  of  deer  are  found  in  California, — 
the  black-tailed,  white-tailed,  and  mule  deer.  The 
first  mentioned  (Cervus  Columbian  us)  is  by  far 
the  most  abundant,  and  occasionally  meets  the 
sheep  during  the  summer  on  high  glacier  meadows, 
and  along  the  edge  of  the  timber  line;  but  being 
a  forest  animal,  seeking  shelter  and  rearing  its 
young  in  dense  thickets,  it  seldom  visits  the  wild 
sheep  in  its  higher  homes.  The  antelope,  though 
not  a  mountaineer,  is  occasionally  met  in  winter 
by  the  sheep  while  feeding  along  the  edges  of  the 
sage-plains  and  bare  volcanic  hills  to  the  east  of 
the  Sierra.  So  also  is  the  mule  deer,  which  is  al- 
most restricted  in  its  range  to  this  eastern  region. 
The  white-tailed  species  belongs  to  the  coast  ranges. 

Perhaps  no  wild  animal  in  the  world  is  without 
enemies,  but  Highlanders,  as  a  class,  have  fewer 
than  lowlanders.  The  wily  panther,  slipping  and 
crouching  among  long  grass  and  bushes,  pounces 
upon  the  antelope  and  deer,  but  seldom  crosses  the 
bald,  craggy  thresholds  of  the  sheep.    Neither  can 


324  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

the  bears  be  regarded  as  enemies ;  for,  though  they 
seek  to  vary  their  every-day  diet  of  nuts  and  ber- 
ries by  an  occasional  meal  of  mutton,  they  prefer 
to  hunt  tame  and  helpless  flocks.  Eagles  and  co- 
yotes, no  doubt,  capture  an  unprotected  lamb  at 
times,  or  some  unfortunate  beset  in  deep,  soft 
snow,  but  these  cases  are  little  more  than  acci- 
dents. So,  also,  a  few  perish  in  long-continued 
snow-storms,  though,  in  all  my  mountaineering,  I 
have  not  found  more  than  five  or  six  that  seemed 
to  have  met  their  fate  in  this  way.  A  little  band 
of  three  were  discovered  snow-bound  in  Bloody 
Canon  a  few  years  ago,  and  were  killed  with  an  ax 
by  mountaineers,  who  chanced  to  be  crossing  the 
range  in  winter. 

Man  is  the  most  dangerous  enemy  of  all,  but 
even  from  him  our  brave  mountain-dweller  has 
little  to  fear  in  the  remote  solitudes  of  the  High 
Sierra.  The  golden  plains  of  the  Sacramento  and 
San  Joaquin  were  lately  thronged  with  bands  of 
elk  and  antelope,  but,  being  fertile  and  accessible, 
they  were  required  for  human  pastures.  So,  also, 
are  many  of  the  feeding-grounds  of  the  deer  —  hill, 
valley,  forest,  and  meadow — but  it  will  be  long  be- 
fore man  will  care  to  take  the  highland  castles  of 
the  sheep.  And  when  we  consider  here  how  rapidly 
entire  species  of  noble  animals,  such  as  the  elk, 
moose,  and  buffalo,  are  being  pushed  to  the  very 
verge  of  extinction,  all  lovers  of  wildness  will  re- 
joice with  me  in  the  rocky  security  of  Ovis  Mon- 
tana, the  bravest  of  all  the  Sierra  mountaineers. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN   THE   SIERRA   FOOT-HILLS 

MURPHY'S  CAMP  is  a  curious  old  mining-town 
in  Calaveras  County,  at  an  elevation  of  -400 
feet  above  the  sea,  situated  like  a  nest  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  rough,  gravelly  region,  rich  in  gold.  Gran- 
ites, slates,  lavas,  limestone,  iron  ores,  quartz  veins, 
auriferous  gravels,  remnants  of  dead  fire-rivers 
and  dead  water-rivers  are  developed  here  side  by 
side  within  a  radius  of  a  few  miles,  and  placed  in- 
vitingly open  before  the  student  like  a  book,  while 
the  people  and  the  region  beyond  the  camp  fur- 
nish mines  of  study  of  never-failing  interest  and 
variety. 

When  I  discovered  this  curious  place,  I  was  tracing 
the  channels  of  the  ancient  pre-glacial  rivers,  instruc- 
tive sections  of  which  have  been  laid  bare  here  and 
in  the  adjacent  regions  by  the  miners.  Rivers,  ac- 
cording to  the  poets,  "  go  on  forever  " ;  but  those 
of  the  Sierra  are  young  as  yet  and  have  scarcely 
learned  the  way  down  to  the  sea ;  while  at  least 
one  generation  of  them  have  died  and  vanished 
together  with  most  of  the  basins  they  drained. 
All  that  remains  of  them  to  tell  their  history  is  a 
series  of  interrupted  fragments  of  channels,  mostly 
choked  with  gravel,   and  buried  beneath  broad, 


326  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

thick  sheets  of  lava.  These  are  known  as  the 
"Dead  Rivers  of  California,"  and  the  gravel  de- 
posited in  them  is  comprehensively  called  the 
"  Blue  Lead."  In  some  places  the  channels  of  the 
present  rivers  trend  in  the  same  direction,  or 
nearly  so,  as  those  of  the  ancient  rivers;  but,  in 
general,  there  is  little  correspondence  between 
them,  the  entire  drainage  having  been  changed,  or, 
rather,  made  new.  Many  of  the  hills  of  the  an- 
cient landscapes  have  become  hollows,  and  the 
old  hollows  have  become  hills.  Therefore  the 
fragmentary  channels,  with  their  loads  of  aurifer- 
ous gravel,  occur  in  all  kinds  of  unthought-of 
places,  trending  obliquely,  or  even  at  right  angles 
to  the  present  drainage,  across  the  tops  of  lofty 
ridges  or  far  beneath  them,  presenting  impressive 
illustrations  of  the  magnitude  of  the  changes  ac- 
complished since  those  ancient  streams  were  anni- 
hilated. The  last  volcanic  period  preceding  the 
regeneration  of  the  Sierra  landscapes  seems  to 
have  come  on  over  all  the  range  almost  simulta- 
neously, like  the  glacial  period,  notwithstanding 
lavas  of  different  age  occur  together  in  many 
places,  indicating  numerous  periods  of  activity  in 
the  Sierra  fire-fountains.  The  most  important  of 
the  ancient  river-channels  in  this  region  is  a  sec- 
tion that  extends  from  the  south  side  of  the  town 
beneath  Coyote  Creek  and  the  ridge  beyond  it 
to  the  Canon  of  the  Stanislaus ;  but  on  account  of 
its  depth  below  the  general  surface  of  the  present 
valleys  the  rich  gold  gravels  it  is  known  to  contain 
cannot  be  easily  worked  on  a  large  scale.  Their 
extraordinary  richness  may  be  inferred  from  the 


IN   THE   SIEKRA   FOOT-HILLS  327 

fact  that  many  claims  were  profitably  worked  in 
them  by  sinking  shafts  to  a  depth  of  200  feet  or 
more,  and  hoisting  the  dirt  by  a  -windlass.  Should 
the  dip  of  this  ancient  channel  be  such  as  to  make 
the  Stanislaus  Canon  available  as  a  dump,  then 
the  grand  deposit  might  be  worked  by  the  hy- 
draulic method,  and  although  a  long,  expensive 
tunnel  would  be  required,  the  scheme  might  still 
prove  profitable,  for  there  is  "  millions  in  it." 

The  importance  of  these  ancient  gravels  as  gold 
fountains  is  well  known  to  miners.  Even  the  su- 
perficial placers  of  the  present  streams  have  de- 
rived much  of  their  gold  from  them.  According 
to  all  accounts,  the  Murphy  placers  have  been  very 
rich — "  terrific  rich,"  as  they  say  here.  The  hills 
have  been  cut  and  scalped,  and  every  gorge  and 
gulch  and  valley  torn  to  pieces  and  disemboweled, 
expressing  a  fierce  and  desperate  energy  hard  to 
understand.  Still,  any  kind  of  effort-making  is 
better  than  inaction,  and  there  is  something  sub- 
lime in  seeing  men  working  in  dead  earnest  at  any- 
thing, pursuing  an  object  with  glacier-like  energy 
and  persistence.  Many  a  brave  fellow  has  recorded 
a  most  eventful  chapter  of  life  on  these  Calaveras 
rocks.  But  most  of  the  pioneer  miners  are  sleep- 
ing now,  their  wild  day  done,  while  the  few  survi- 
vors linger  languidly  in  the  washed-out  gulches  or 
sleepy  village  like  harried  bees  around  the  ruins  of 
their  hive.  "  We  have  no  industry  left  note,"  they 
told  me,  "  and  no  men ;  everybody  and  everything 
hereabouts  has  gone  to  decay.  We  are  only  bum- 
mers— out  of  the  game,  a  thin  scatterm'  of  poor, 
dilapidated  cusses,  compared  with  what  we  used 


328  THE   MOUNTAINS  OF   CALIFOKNIA 

to  be  in  the  grand  old  gold-days.  We  were  giants 
then,  and  yon  can  look  around  here  and  see  our 
tracks."  But  although  these  lingering  pioneers  are 
perhaps  more  exhausted  than  the  mines,  and  about 
as  dead  as  the  dead  rivers,  they  are  yet  a  rare  and 
interesting  set  of  men,  with  much  gold  mixed  with 
the  rough,  rocky  gravel  of  their  characters;  and 
they  manifest  a  breeding  and  intelligence  little 
looked  for  in  such  surroundings  as  theirs.  As  the 
heavy,  long-continued  grinding  of  the  glaciers 
brought  out  the  features  of  the  Sierra,  so  the  in- 
tense experiences  of  the  gold  period  have  brought 
out  the  features  of  these  old  miners,  forming  a 
richness  and  variety  of  character  little  known  as 
yet.  The  sketches  of  Bret  Harte,  Hayes,  and  Miller 
have  not  exhausted  this  field  by  any  means.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  the  extremes  possible  in  one 
and  the  same  character:  harshness  and  gentleness, 
manliness  and  childishness,  apathy  and  fierce  en- 
deavor. Men  who,  twenty  years  ago,  would  not 
cease  their  shoveling  to  save  their  lives,  now  play 
in  the  streets  with  children.  Their  long,  Micaw- 
ber-like  waiting  after  the  exhaustion  of  the  placers 
has  brought  on  an  exaggerated  form  of  dotage.  I 
heard  a  group  of  brawny  pioneers  in  the  street 
eagerly  discussing  the  quantity  of  tail  required  for 
a  boy's  kite;  and  one  graybeard  undertook  the 
sport  of  flying  it,  volunteering  the  information 
that  he  was  a  boy,  "  always  was  a  boy,  and  d — n 
a  man  who  was  not  a  boy  inside,  however  ancient 
outside ! "  Mines,  morals,  politics,  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  etc.,  were  discussed  beneath  shade- 
trees  and  in  saloons,  the  time  for  each  being  gov- 


IN   THE    SIERRA   FOOT-HILLS  329 

erned  apparently  by  the  temperature.  Contact  with 
Nature,  and  the  habits  of  observation  acquired  in 
gold-seeking,  had  made  them  all,  to  some  extent, 
collectors,  and,  like  wood-rats,  they  had  gathered 
all  kinds  of  odd  specimens  into  their  cabins,  and 
now  required  me  to  examine  them.  They  were 
themselves  the  oddest  and  most  interesting  speci- 
mens. One  of  them  offered  to  show  me  around 
the  old  diggings,  giving  me  fair  warning  before 
setting  out  that  I  might  not  like  him,  "because," 
said  he,  "people  say  I  'm  eccentric.  I  notice 
everything,  and  gather  beetles  and  snakes  and 
anything  that 's  queer ;  and  so  some  don't  like  me, 
and  call  me  eccentric.  I  'm  always  trying  to  find 
out  things.  Now,  there  's  a  weed ;  the  Indians  eat 
it  for  greens.  What  do  you  call  those  long-bodied 
flies  with  big  heads  I "  "  Dragon-flies,"  I  suggested. 
"  Well,  their  jaws  work  sidewise,  instead  of  up  and 
down,  and  grasshoppers'  jaws  work  the  same  way, 
and  therefore  I  think  they  are  the  same  species. 
I  always  notice  everything  like  that,  and  just  be- 
cause I  do,  they  say  I  'm  eccentric,"  etc. 

Anxious  that  I  should  miss  none  of  the  wonders 
of  their  old  gold-field,  the  good  people  had  much  to 
say  about  the  marvelous  beauty  of  Cave  City  Cave, 
and  advised  me  to  explore  it.  This  I  was  very 
glad  to  do,  and  finding  a  guide  who  knew  the  way 
to  the  mouth  of  it,  I  set  out  from  Murphy  the  next 
morning. 

The  most  beautiful  and  extensive  of  the  moun- 
tain caves  of  California  occur  in  a  belt  of  metamor- 
phic  limestone  that  is  pretty  generally  developed 
along  the  western  flank  of  the  Sierra  from  the  Me- 


330  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

Cloud  River  on  the  north  to  the  Kaweah  on  the 
south,  a  distance  of  over  400  miles,  at  an  elevation 
of  from  2000  to  7000  feet  above  the  sea.  Besides 
this  regular  belt  of  caves,  the  California  landscapes 
are  diversified  by  long  imposing  ranks  of  sea-caves, 
rugged  and  variable  in  architecture,  carved  in  the 
coast  headlands  and  precipices  by  centuries  of 
wave-dashing;  and  innumerable  lava-caves,  great 
and  small,  originating  in  the  unequal  flowing  and 
hardening  of  the  lava  sheets  in  which  they  occur, 
fine  illustrations  of  which  are  presented  in  the  fa- 
mous Modoc  Lava  Beds,  and  around  the  base  of 
icy  Shasta.  In  this  comprehensive  glance  we  may 
also  notice  the  shallow  wind-worn  caves  in  strati- 
fied sandstones  along  the  margins  of  the  plains; 
and  the  cave-like  recesses  in  the  Sierra  slates  and 
granites,  where  bears  and  other  mountaineers  find 
shelter  during  the  fall  of  sudden  storms.  In  gen- 
eral, however,  the  grand  massive  uplift  of  the 
Sierra,  as  far  as  it  has  been  laid  bare  to  observa- 
tion, is  about  as  solid  and  caveless  as  a  boulder. 

Fresh  beauty  opens  one's  eyes  wherever  it  is 
really  seen,  but  the  very  abundance  and  complete- 
ness of  the  common  beauty  that  besets  our  steps 
prevents  its  being  absorbed  and  appreciated.  It  is 
a  good  thing,  therefore,  to  make  short  excursions 
now  and  then  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  among  dulse 
and  coral,  or  up  among  the  clouds  on  mountain- 
tops,  or  in  balloons,  or  even  to  creep  like  worms 
into  dark  holes  and  caverns  underground,  not  only 
to  learn  something  of  what  is  going  on  in  those 
out-of-the-way  places,  but  to  see  better  what  the 
sun  sees  on  our  return  to  common  every-day  beauty. 


IN   THE   SIERRA   FOOT-HILLS  331 

Our  way  from  Murphy's  to  the  cave  lay  across  a 
series  of  picturesque,  moory  ridges  in  the  chaparral 
region  between  the  brown  foot-hills  and  the  forests, 
a  flowery  stretch  of  rolling  hill-waves  breaking  here 
and  there  into  a  kind  of  rocky  foam  on  the  higher 
summits,  and  sinking  into  delightful  bosky  hollows 
embowered  with  vines.  The  day  was  a  fine  specimen 
of  California  summer,  pure  sunshine,  unshaded  most 
of  the  time  by  a  single  cloud.  As  the  sun  rose 
higher,  the  heated  air  began  to  flow  in  tremulous 
waves  from  every  southern  slope.  The  sea-breeze 
that  usually  comes  up  the  foot-hills  at  this  season, 
with  cooling  on  its  wings,  was  scarcely  perceptible. 
The  birds  were  assembled  beneath  leafy  shade,  or 
made  short,  languid  flights  in  search  of  food,  all 
save  the  majestic  buzzard ;  with  broad  wings  out- 
spread he  sailed  the  warm  air  un wearily  from  ridge 
to  ridge,  seeming  to  enjoy  the  fervid  sunshine  like 
a  butterfly.  Squirrels,  too,  whose  spicy  ardor  no 
heat  or  cold  may  abate,  were  nutting  among  the 
pines,  and  the  innumerable  hosts  of  the  insect  king- 
dom were  throbbing  and  wavering  unwearied  as 
sunbeams. 

This  brushy,  berry-bearing  region  used  to  be  a 
deer  and  bear  pasture,  but  since  the  disturbances 
of  the  gold  period  these  fine  animals  have  almost 
wholly  disappeared.  Here,  also,  once  roamed  the 
mastodon  and  elephant,  whose  bones  are  found  en- 
tombed in  the  river  gravels  and  beneath  thick  folds 
of  lava.  Toward  noon,  as  we  were  riding  slowly 
over  bank  and  brae,  basking  in  the  unfeverish 
sun-heat,  we  witnessed  the  upheaval  of  a  new  moun- 
tain-range, a  Sierra  of  clouds  abounding  in  land- 


332  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

scapes  as  truly  sublime  aud  beautiful — if  only  we 
have  a  mind  to  think  so  and  eyes  to  see — as  the 
more  ancient  rocky  Sierra  beneath  it,  with  its  for- 
ests and  waterfalls ;  reminding  us  that,  as  there  is  a 
lower  world  of  caves,  so,  also,  there  is  an  upper 
world  of  clouds.  Huge,  bossy  cumuli  developed 
with  astonishing  rapidity  from  mere  buds,  swelling 
with  visible  motion  into  colossal  mountains,  and 
piling  higher,  higher,  in  long  massive  ranges,  peak 
beyond  peak,  dome  over  dome,  with  many  a  pic- 
turesque valley  and  shadowy  cave  between ;  while 
the  dark  firs  and  pines  of  the  upper  benches  of  the 
Sierra  were  projected  against  their  pearl  bosses 
with  exquisite  clearness  of  outline.  These  cloud 
mountains  vanished  in  the  azure  as  quickly  as  they 
were  developed,  leaving  no  detritus ;  but  they  were 
not  a  whit  less  real  or  interesting  on  this  account. 
The  more  enduring  hills  over  which  we  rode  were 
vanishing  as  surely  as  they,  only  not  so  fast,  a  dif- 
ference which  is  great  or  small  according  to  the 
standpoint  from  which  it  is  contemplated. 

At  the  bottom  of  every  dell  we  found  little  home- 
steads embosomed  in  wild  brush  and  vines  wher- 
ever the  recession  of  the  hills  left  patches  of  arable 
ground.  These  secluded  flats  are  settled  mostly  by 
Italians  and  Germans,  who  plant  a  few  vegetables 
and  grape-vines  at  odd  times,  while  their  main 
business  is  mining  and  prospecting.  In  spite  of  all 
the  natural  beauty  of  these  dell  cabins,  they  can 
hardly  be  called  homes.  They  are  only  a  better 
kind  of  camp,  gladly  abandoned  whenever  the 
hoped-for  gold  harvest  has  been  gathered.  There  is 
an  air  of  profound  unrest  and  melancholy  about 


IN  THE   SIERRA   FOOT-HILLS  333 

the  best  of  them.  Their  beauty  is  thrust  upon 
them  by  exuberant  Nature,  apart  from  which  they 
are  only  a  few  logs  and  boards  rudely  jointed  and 
without  either  ceiling  or  floor,  a  rough  fireplace 
with  corresponding  cooking  utensils,  a  shelf-bed, 
and  stool.  The  ground  about  them  is  strewn  with 
battered  prospecting-pans,  picks,  sluice-boxes,  and 
quartz  specimens  from  many  a  ledge,  indicating  the 
trend  of  their  owners'  hard  lives. 

The  ride  from  Murphy's  to  the  cave  is  scarcely  two 
hours  long,  but  we  lingered  among  quartz-ledges 
and  banks  of  dead  river  gravel  until  long  after 
noon.  At  length  emerging  from  a  narrow-throated 
gorge,  a  small  house  came  in  sight  set  in  a  thicket 
of  fig-trees  at  the  base  of  a  limestone  hill.  "  That," 
said  my  guide,  pointing  to  the  house,  "  is  Cave 
City,  and  the  cave  is  in  that  gray  hill."  Arriving 
at  the  one  house  of  this  one-house  city,  we  were 
boisterously  welcomed  by  three  drunken  men  who 
had  come  to  town  to  hold  a  spree.  The  mistress 
of  the  house  tried  to  keep  order,  and  in  reply  to 
our  inquiries  told  us  that  the  cave  guide  was  then 
in  the  cave  with  a  party  of  ladies.  "And  must  we 
wait  until  he  returns?"  we  asked.  No,  that  was  un- 
necessary ;  we  might  take  candles  and  go  into  the 
cave  alone,  provided  we  shouted  from  time  to  time 
so  as  to  be  found  by  the  guide,  and  were  careful 
not  to  fall  over  the  rocks  or  into  the  dark  pools. 
Accordingly  taking  a  trail  from  the  house,  we  were 
led  around  the  base  of  the  hill  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave,  a  small  inconspicuous  archway,  mossy  around 
the  edges  and  shaped  like  the  door  of  a  water-ouzel's 
nest,  with  no  appreciable  hint  or  advertisement  of 


334  THE   MOUNTAINS  OF   CALIFOKNIA 

the  grandeur  of  the  many  crystal  chambers  within. 
Lighting  our  candles,  which  seemed  to  have  no  illu- 
1  ninating  power  in  the  thick  darkness,  we  groped 
our  way  onward  as  best  we  could  along  narrow 
lanes  and  alleys,  from  chamber  to  chamber,  around 
rustic  columns  and  heaps  of  fallen  rocks,  stopping 
to  rest  now  and  then  in  particularly  beautiful 
places  —  fairy  alcoves  furnished  with  admirable  va- 
riety of  shelves  and  tables,  and  round  bossy  stools 
covered  with  sparkling  crystals.  Some  of  the  cor- 
ridors were  muddy,  and  in  plodding  along  these  we 
seemed  to  be  in  the  streets  of  some  prairie  village 
in  spring-time.  Then  we  would  come  to  handsome 
marble  stairways  conducting  right  and  left  into 
upper  chambers  ranged  above  one  another  three  or 
four  stories  high,  floors,  ceilings,  and  walls  lavishly 
decorated  with  innumerable  crystalline  forms. 
After  thus  wandering  exploringly,  and  alone  for  a 
mile  or  so,  fairly  enchanted,  a  murmur  of  voices 
and  a  gleam  of  light  betrayed  the  approach  of  the 
guide  and  his  party,  from  whom,  when  they  came 
up,  we  received  a  most  hearty  and  natural  stare,  as 
we  stood  half  concealed  in  a  side  recess  among 
stalagmites.  I  ventured  to  ask  the  dripping,  crouch- 
ing company  how  they  had  enjoyed  their  saunter, 
anxious  to  learn  how  the  strange  sunless  scenery  of 
the  underworld  had  impressed  them.  "Ah,  it 's 
nice !  It 's  splendid ! "  they  all  replied  and  echoed. 
"The  Bridal  Chamber  back  here  is  just  glorious! 
This  morning  we  came  down  from  the  Calaveras 
Big  Tree  Grove,  and  the  trees  are  nothing  to  it." 
After  making  this  curious  comparison  they  has- 
tened sunward,  the  guide  promising  to  join  us 


IN  THE   SIERRA  FOOT-HILLS  335 

shortly  on  the  bank  of  a  deep  pool,  where  we  were 
to  wait  for  him.  This  is  a  charming  little  lakelet 
of  unknown  depth,  never  yet  stirred  1 » v  ;i  breeze,  and 
its  eternal  calm  excites  the  imagination  even  more 
profoundly  than  the  silvery  lakes  of  the  glaciers 
rimmed  with  meadows  and  snow  and  reflecting 
sublime  mountains. 

Our  guide,  a  jolly,  rollicking  Italian,  led  us  into 
the  heart  of  the  hill,  up  and  down,  right  and  left, 
from  chamber  to  chamber  more  and  more  magnifi- 
cent, all  a-glitter  like  a  glacier  cave  with  icicle-like 
stalactites  and  stalagmites  combined  in  forms  of 
indescribable  beauty.  We  were  shown  one  large 
room  that  was  occasionally  used  as  a  dancing-hall ; 
another  that  was  used  as  a  chapel,  with  natural 
pulpit  and  crosses  and  pews,  sermons  in  every 
stone,  where  a  priest  had  said  mass.  Mass-saying 
is  not  so  generally  developed  in  connection  with 
natural  wonders  as  dancing.  One  of  the  first 
conceits  excited  by  the  giant  Sequoias  was  to  cut 
one  of  them  down  and  dance  on  its  stump.  We 
have  also  seen  dancing  in  the  spray  of  Niagara; 
dancing  in  the  famous  Bower  Cave  above  Coulter- 
ville;  and  nowhere  have  I  seen  so  much  dancing 
as  in  Yosemite.  A  dance  on  the  inaccessible  South 
Dome  would  likely  follow  the  making  of  an  easy 
way  to  the  top  of  it. 

It  was  delightful  to  witness  here  the  infinite 
deliberation  of  Nature,  and  the  simplicity  of  her 
methods  in  the  production  of  such  mighty  results, 
such  perfect  repose  combined  with  restless  enthu- 
siastic energy.  Though  cold  and  bloodless  as  a 
landscape  of  polar  ice,  building  was  going  on  in  the 


336  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

dark  with  incessant  activity.  The  archways  and 
ceilings  were  everywhere  hung  with  down-growing 
crystals,  like  inverted  groves  of  leafless  saplings, 
some  of  them  large,  others  delicately  attenuated, 
each  tipped  with  a  single  drop  of  water,  like  the 
terminal  bud  of  a  pine-tree.  The  only  appreciable 
sounds  were  the  dripping  and  tinkling  of  water 
falling  into  pools  or  faintly  plashing  on  the  crystal 
floors. 

In  some  places  the  crystal  decorations  are  ar- 
ranged in  graceful  flowing  folds  deeply  plicated 
like  stiff  silken  drapery.  In  others  straight  lines 
of  the  ordinary  stalactite  forms  are  combined  with 
reference  to  size  and  tone  in  a  regularly  graduated 
system  like  the  strings  of  a  harp  with  musical  tones 
corresponding  thereto;  and  on  these  stone  harps 
we  played  by  striking  the  crystal  strings  with  a 
stick.  The  delicious  liquid  tones  they  gave  forth 
seemed  perfectly  divine  as  they  sweetly  whispered 
and  wavered  through  the  majestic  halls  and  died 
away  in  faintest  cadence, — the  music  of  fairy-land. 
Here  we  lingered  and  reveled,  rejoicing  to  find  so 
much  music  in  stony  silence,  so  much  splendor  in 
darkness,  so  many  mansions  in  the  depths  of  the 
mountains,  buildings  ever  in  process  of  construc- 
tion, yet  ever  finished,  developing  from  perfection 
to  perfection,  profusion  without  overabundance; 
every  particle  visible  or  invisible  in  glorious  mo- 
tion, marching  to  the  music  of  the  spheres  in  a 
region  regarded  as  the  abode  of  eternal  stillness 
and  death. 

The  outer  chambers  of  mountain  caves  are  fre- 
quently selected  as  homes  by  wild  beasts.    In  the 


IN   THE   SIERRA   FOOT-HILLS  337 

Sierra,  however,  they  seem  to  prefer  homes  and 
hiding-places  in  chaparral  and  beneath  shelving 
precipices,  as  I  have  never  seen  their  tracks  in  any 
of  the  caves.  This  is  the  more  remarkable  because 
notwithstanding  the  darkness  and  oozing  water 
there  is  nothing  uncomfortably  cellar-like  or  sepul- 
chral about  them. 

When  we  emerged  into  the  bright  landscapes  of 
the  sun  everything  looked  brighter,  and  we  felt  our 
faith  in  Nature's  beauty  strengthened,  and  saw  more 
clearly  that  beauty  is  universal  and  immortal, 
above,  beneath,  on  land  and  sea,  mountain  and 
plain,  in  heat  and  cold,  light  and  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   BEE-PASTURES 

WHEN  California  was  wild,  it  was  one  sweet 
bee-garden  throughout  its  entire  length, 
north  and  south,  and  all  the  way  across  from  the 
snowy  Sierra  to  the  ocean. 

Wherever  a  bee  might  fly  within  the  bounds  of 
this  virgin  wilderness — through  the  redwood  for- 
ests, along  the  banks  of  the  rivers,  along  the  bluffs 
and  headlands  fronting  the  sea,  over  valley  and 
plain,  park  and  grove,  and  deep,  leafy  glen,  or  far 
up  the  piny  slopes  of  the  mountains — throughout 
every  belt  and  section  of  climate  up  to  the  timber 
line,  bee-flowers  bloomed  in  lavish  abundance. 
Here  they  grew  more  or  less  apart  in  special  sheets 
and  patches  of  no  great  size,  there  in  broad,  flow- 
ing folds  hundreds  of  miles  in  length  —  zones  of 
polleny  forests,  zones  of  flowery  chaparral,  stream- 
tangles  of  rubus  and  wild  rose,  sheets  of  golden 
composite,  beds  of  violets,  beds  of  mint,  beds  of 
bryanthus  and  clover,  and  so  on,  certain  species 
blooming  somewhere  all  the  year  round. 

But  of  late  years  plows  and  sheep  have  made  sad 
havoc  in  these  glorious  pastures,  destroying  tens  of 
thousands  of  the  flowery  acres  like  a  fire,  and  ban- 
ishing many  species  of  the  best  honey-plants  to 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  339 

rocky  cliffs  and  fence-corners,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  cultivation  thus  far  has  given  no  adequate 
compensation,  at  least  in  kind ;  only  acres  of  alfalfa 
for  miles  of  the  richest  wild  pasture,  ornamental 
roses  and  honeysuckles  around  cottage  doors  for 
cascades  of  wild  roses  in  the  dells,  and  small,  square 
orchards  and  orange-groves  for  broad  mountain- 
belts  of  chaparral. 

The  Great  Central  Plain  of  California,  during  the 
months  of  March,  April,  and  May,  was  one  smooth, 
continuous  bed  of  honey-bloom,  so  marvelously 
rich  that,  in  walking  from  one  end  of  it  to  the 
other,  a  distance  of  more  than  400  miles,  your  foot 
would  press  about  a  hundred  flowers  at  every  step. 
Mints,  gilias,  nemophilas,  castilleias,  and  innumer- 
able composite  were  so  crowded  together  that,  had 
ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  them  been  taken  away,  the 
plain  would  still  have  seemed  to  any  but  Califor- 
nians  extravagantly  flowery.  The  radiant,  honey- 
ful  corollas,  touching  and  overlapping,  and  rising 
above  one  another,  glowed  in  the  living  light  like  a 
sunset  sky — one  sheet  of  purple  and  gold,  with  the 
bright  Sacramento  pouring  through  the  midst  of  it 
from  the  north,  the  San  Joaquin,  from  the  south, 
and  their  many  tributaries  sweeping  in  at  right 
angles  from  the  mountains,  dividing  the  plain  into 
sections  fringed  with  trees. 

Along  the  rivers  there  is  a  strip  of  bottom-land, 
countersunk  beneath  the  general  level,  and  wider 
toward  the  foot-hills,  where  magnificent  oaks,  from 
three  to  eight  feet  in  diameter,  cast  grateful  masses 
of  shade  over  the  open,  prairie-like  levels.  And 
close  along  the  water's  edge  there  was  a  fine  jungle 


340  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

of  tropical  luxuriance,  composed  of  wild-rose  and 
bramble  bushes  and  a  great  variety  of  climbing 
vines,  wreathing  and  interlacing  the  branches  ard 
trunks  of  willows  and  alders,  and  swinging  across 
from  summit  to  summit  in  heavy  festoons.  Here 
the  wild  bees  reveled  in  fresh  bloom  long  after  the 
flowers  of  the  drier  plain  had  withered  and  gone 
to  seed.  And  in  midsummer,  when  the  "  blackber- 
ries "  were  ripe,  the  Indians  came  from  the  moun- 
tains to  feast — men,  women,  and  babies  in  long, 
noisy  trains,  often  joined  by  the  farmers  of  the 
neighborhood,  who  gathered  this  wild  fruit  with 
commendable  appreciation  of  its  superior  flavor, 
while  their  home  orchards  were  full  of  ripe  peaches, 
apricots,  nectarines,  and  figs,  and  their  vineyards 
were  laden  with  grapes.  But,  though  these  luxuri- 
ant, shaggy  river-beds  were  thus  distinct  from  the 
smooth,  treeless  plain,  they  made  no  heavy  divid- 
ing lines  in  general  views.  The  whole  appeared  as 
one  continuous  sheet  of  bloom  bounded  only  by  the 
mountains. 

When  I  first  saw  this  central  garden,  the  most 
extensive  and  regular  of  all  the  bee-pastures  of  the 
State,  it  seemed  all  one  sheet  of  plant  gold,  hazy 
and  vanishing  in  the  distance,  distinct  as  a  new 
map  along  the  foot-hills  at  my  feet. 

Descending  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  Coast  Eange 
through  beds  of  gilias  and  lupines,  and  around 
many  a  breezy  hillock  and  bush-crowned  headland, 
I  at  length  waded  out  into  the  midst  of  it.  All 
the  ground  was  covered,  not  with  grass  and  green 
leaves,  but  with  radiant  corollas,  about  ankle-deep 
next  the  foot-hills,  knee-deep  or  more  five  or  six 


A    BEE-RANCH    IN    LOWER    CALIFORNIA. 


342  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFORNIA 

miles  out.  Here  were  bahia,  madia,  madaria,  bur- 
rielia,  chrysopsis,  corethrogyne,  grindelia,  etc., 
growing  iu  close  social  congregations  of  various 
shades  of  yellow,  blending  finely  with  the  purples 
of  clarkia,  orthocarpus,  and  Oenothera,  whose  deli- 
cate petals  were  drinking  the  vital  sunbeams  with- 
out giving  back  any  sparkling  glow. 

Because  so  long  a  period  of  extreme  drought 
succeeds  the  rainy  season,  most  of  the  vegetation 
is  composed  of  annuals,  which  spring  up  simultane- 
ously, and  bloom  together  at  about  the  same  height 
above  the  ground,  the  general  surface  being  but 
slightly  ruffled  by  the  taller  phacelias,  pentstemons, 
and  groups  of  Salvia  carduacea,  the  king  of  the  mints. 

Sauntering  in  any  direction,  hundreds  of  these 
happy  sun-plants  brushed  against  my  feet  at  every 
step,  and  closed  over  them  as  if  I  were  wading  in 
liquid  gold.  The  air  was  sweet  with  fragrance,  the 
larks  sang  their  blessed  songs,  rising  on  the  wing  as 
I  advanced,  then  sinking  out  of  sight  in  the  pol- 
leny  sod,  while  myriads  of  wild  bees  stirred  the 
lower  air  with  their  monotonous  hum  —  monoton- 
ous, yet  forever  fresh  and  sweet  as  every-day  sun- 
shine. Hares  and  spermophiles  showed  themselves 
in  considerable  numbers  in  shallow  places,  and 
small  bands  of  antelopes  were  almost  constantly  in 
sight,  gazing  curiously  from  some  slight  elevation, 
and  then  bounding  swiftly  away  with  unrivaled 
grace  of  motion.  Yet  I  could  discover  no  crushed 
flowers  to  mark  their  track,  nor,  indeed,  any  de- 
structive action  of  any  wild  foot  or  tooth  whatever. 

The  great  yellow  days  circled  by  uncounted, 
while   T   drifted  toward  the  north,  observing  the 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  343 

countless  forms  of  life  thronging  about  me,  lying 
down  almost  anywhere  on  the  approach  of  night. 
And  what  glorious  botanical  beds  I  had !  Often- 
times on  awaking  I  would  find  several  new  species 
leaning  over  me  and  looking  me  full  in  the  face,  so 
that  my  studies  would  begin  before  rising. 

About  the  first  of  May  I  turned  eastward,  cross- 
ing the  San  Joaquin  River  between  the  mouths  of 
the  Tuolumne  and  Merced,  and  by  the  time  I  had 
reached  the  Sierra  foot-hills  most  of  the  vegetation 
had  gone  to  seed  and  become  as  dry  as  hay. 

All  the  seasons  of  the  great  plain  are  warm  or 
temperate,  and  bee-flowers  are  never  wholly  want- 
ing ;  but  the  grand  springtime  —  the  annual  resur- 
rection—  is  governed  by  the  rains,  which  usually 
set  in  about  the  middle  of  November  or  the  begin- 
ning of  December.  Then  the  seeds,  that  for  six 
months  have  lain  on  the  ground  dry  and  fresh  as  if 
they  had  been  gathered  into  barns,  at  once  unfold 
their  treasured  life.  The  general  brown  and  pur- 
ple of  the  ground,  and  the  dead  vegetation  of  the 
preceding  year,  give  place  to  the  green  of  mosses 
and  liverworts  and  myriads  of  young  leaves.  Then 
one  species  after  another  comes  into  flower,  grad- 
ually overspreading  the  green  with  yellow  and 
purple,  which  lasts  until  May. 

The  "rainy  season"  is  by  no  means  a  gloomy, 
soggy  period  of  constant  cloudiness  and  rain. 
Perhaps  nowhere  else  in  North  America,  perhaps 
in  the  world,  are  the  months  of  December,  January, 
February,  and  March  so  full  of  bland,  plant-build- 
ing sunshine.  Referring  to  my  notes  of  the  winter 
and  spring  of  1868-69,  every  day  of  which  I  spent 


344  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOENIA 

out  of  doors,  on  that  section  of  the  plain  lying  be- 
tween the  Tuolumne  and  Merced  rivers,  I  find  that 
the  first  rain  of  the  season  fell  on  December  18th. 
January  had  only  six  rainy  days  —  that  is,  days  on 
which  rain  fell ;  February  three,  March  five,  April 
three,  and  May  three,  completing  the  so-called 
rainy  season,  which  was  about  an  average  one. 
The  ordinary  rain-storm  of  this  region  is  seldom 
very  cold  or  violent.  The  winds,  which  in  settled 
weather  come  from  the  northwest,  veer  round  into 
the  opposite  direction,  the  sky  fills  gradually  and 
evenly  with  one  general  cloud,  from  which  the 
rain  falls  steadily,  often  for  days  in  succession,  at  a 
temperature  of  about  45°  or  50°. 

More  than  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  all  the  rain 
of  this  season  came  from  the  northwest,  down  the 
coast  over  southeastern  Alaska,  British  Columbia, 
Washington,  and  Oregon,  though  the  local  winds 
of  these  circular  storms  blow  from  the  southeast. 
One  magnificent  local  storm  from  the  northwest 
fell  on  March  21.  A  massive,  round-browed  cloud 
came  swelling  and  thundering  over  the  flowery 
plain  in  most  imposing  majesty,  its  bossy  front 
burning  white  and  purple  in  the  full  blaze  of  the 
sun,  while  warm  rain  poured  from  its  ample  foun- 
tains like  a  cataract,  beating  down  flowers  and  bees, 
and  flooding  the  dry  watercourses  as  suddenly  as 
those  of  Nevada  are  flooded  by  the  so-called  "cloud- 
bursts." But  in  less  than  half  an  hour  not  a  trace 
of  the  heavy,  mountain-like  cloud-structure  was  left 
in  the  sky,  and  the  bees  were  on  the  wing,  as  if 
nothing  more  gratefully  refreshing  could  have  been 
sent  them. 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  345 

By  the  end  of  January  four  species  of  plants 
were  in  flower,  and  five  or  six  mosses  had  already 
adjusted  their  hoods  and  were  in  the  prime  of  life ; 
but  the  flowers  were  not  sufficiently  numerous  as 
yet  to  affect  greatly  the  general  green  of  the  young 
leaves.  Violets  made  their  appearance  in  the  first 
week  of  February,  and  toward  the  end  of  this 
month  the  warmer  portions  of  the  plain  were  al- 
ready golden  with  myriads  of  the  flowers  of  rayed 
composite. 

This  was  the  full  springtime.  The  sunshine 
grew  warmer  and  richer,  new  plants  bloomed  every 
day ;  the  air  became  more  tuneful  with  humming 
wings,  and  sweeter  with  the  fragrance  of  the  open- 
ing flowers.  Ants  and  ground  squirrels  were  get- 
ting ready  for  their  summer  work,  rubbing  their 
benumbed  limbs,  and  sunning  themselves  on  the 
husk-piles  before  their  doors,  and  spiders  were 
busy  mending  their  old  webs,  or  weaving  new  ones. 

In  March,  the  vegetation  was  more  than  doubled 
in  depth  and  color ;  claytonia,  calandrinia,  a  large 
white  gilia,  and  two  nemophilas  were  in  bloom,  to- 
gether with  a  host  of  yellow  composite,  tall  enough 
now  to  bend  in  the  wind  and  show  wavering 
ripples  of  shade. 

In  April,  plant-life,  as  a  whole,  reached  its  great- 
est height,  and  the  plain,  over  all  its  varied  surface, 
was  mantled  with  a  close,  furred  plush  of  purple 
and  golden  corollas.  By  the  end  of  this  month, 
most  of  the  species  had  ripened  their  seeds,  but 
undecayed,  still  seemed  to  be  in  bloom  from  the 
numerous  corolla-like  involucres  and  whorls  of 
chaffy  scales  of  the  composite.    In  May,  the  bees 


346  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

found  in  flower  only  a  few  deep-set  liliaceous  plants 
and  eriogonums. 

June,  July,  August,  and  September  is  the  season 
of  rest  and  sleep, —  a  winter  of  dry  heat, —  followed 
in  October  by  a  second  outburst  of  bloom  at  the 
very  driest  time  of  the  year.  Then,  after  the 
shrunken  mass  of  leaves  and  stalks  of  the  dead 
vegetation  crinkle  and  turn  to  dust  beneath  the 
foot,  as  if  it  had  been  baked  in  an  oven,  Hemizonia 
virgata,  a  slender,  unobtrusive  little  plant,  from  six 
inches  to  three  feet  high,  suddenly  makes  its  ap- 
pearance in  patches  miles  in  extent,  like  a  resurrec- 
tion of  the  bloom  of  April.  I  have  counted  upward 
of  3000  flowers,  five  eighths  of  an  inch  in  diameter, 
on  a  single  plant.  Both  its  leaves  and  stems  are 
so  slender  as  to  be  nearly  invisible,  at  a  distance 
of  a  few  yards,  amid  so  showy  a  multitude  of 
flowers.  The  ray  and  disk  flowers  are  both  yellow, 
the  stamens  purple,  and  the  texture  of  the  rays 
is  rich  and  velvety,  like  the  petals  of  garden 
pansies.  The  prevailing  wind  turns  all  the  heads 
round  to  the  southeast,  so  that  in  facing  northwest- 
ward we  have  the  flowers  looking  us  in  the  face. 
In  my  estimation,  this  little  plant,  the  last  born  of 
the  brilliant  host  of  composite  that  glorify  the 
plain,  is  the  most  interesting  of  all.  It  remains  in 
flower  until  November,  uniting  with  two  or  three 
species  of  wiry  eriogonums,  which  continue  the 
floral  chain  around  December  to  the  spring  flowers 
of  January.  Thus,  although  the  main  bloom  and 
honey  season  is  only  about  three  months  long,  the 
floral  circle,  however  thin  around  some  of  the  hot, 
rainless  months,  is  never  completely  broken. 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  347 

How  long  the  various  species  of  wild  bees  have 
lived  in  this  honey-garden,  nobody  knows;  prob- 
ably ever  since  the  main  body  of  the  present  flora 
gained  possession  of  the  land,  toward  the  close  of 
the  glacial  period.  The  first  brown  honey-bees 
brought  to  California  are  said  to  have  arrived  in 
San  Francisco  in  March,  1853.  A  bee-keeper  by 
the  name  of  Shelton  purchased  a  lot,  consisting  of 
twelve  swarms,  from  some  one  at  Aspinwall,  who 
had  brought  them  from  New  York.  When  landed 
at  San  Francisco,  all  the  hives  contained  live  bees, 
but  they  finally  dwindled  to  one  hive,  which  was 
taken  to  San  Jose.  The  little  immigrants  flour- 
ished and  multiplied  in  the  bountiful  pastures  of 
the  Santa  Clara  Valley,  sending  off  three  swarms 
the  first  season.  The  owner  was  killed  shortly 
afterward,  and  in  settling  up  his  estate,  two  of  the 
swarms  were  sold  at  auction  for  $105  and  $110  re- 
spectively. Other  importations  were  made,  from 
time  to  time,  by  way  of  the  Isthmus,  and,  though 
great  pains  were  taken  to  insure  success,  about 
one  half  usually  died  on  the  way.  Four  swarms 
were  brought  safely  across  the  plains  in  1859,  the 
hives  being  placed  in  the  rear  end  of  a  wagon, 
which  was  stopped  in  the  afternoon  to  allow  the 
bees  to  fly  and  feed  in  the  floweriest  places  that 
were  within  reach  until  dark,  when  the  hives  were 
closed. 

In  1855,  two  years  after  the  time  of  the  first  ar- 
rivals from  New  York,  a  single  swarm  was  brought 
over  from  San  Jose,  and  let  fly  in  the  Great  Cen- 
tral Plain.  Bee-culture,  however,  has  never  gained 
much  attention  here,  notwithstanding  the  extraor- 


348  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

dinary  abundance  of  honey-bloom,  and  the  high 
price  of  honey  during  the  early  years.  A  few  hives 
are  found  here  and  there  among  settlers  who 
chanced  to  have  learned  something  about  the  busi- 
ness before  coming  to  the  State.  But  sheep,  cattle, 
grain,  and  fruit  raising  are  the  chief  industries,  as 
they  require  less  skill  and  care,  while  the  profits 
thus  far  have  been  greater.  In  1856  honey  sold  here 
at  from  one  and  a  half  to  two  dollars  per  pound. 
Twelve  years  later  the  price  had  fallen  to  twelve 
and  a  half  cents.  In  1868  I  sat  down  to  dinner 
with  a  band  of  ravenous  sheep-shearers  at  a  ranch 
on  the  San  Joaquin,  where  fifteen  or  twenty  hives 
were  kept,  and  our  host  advised  us  not  to  spare  the 
large  pan  of  honey  he  had  placed  on  the  table,  as 
it  was  the  cheapest  article  he  had  to  offer.  In  all 
my  walks,  however,  I  have  never  come  upon  a  reg- 
ular bee-ranch  in  the  Central  Valley  like  those  so 
common  and  so  skilfully  managed  in  the  southern 
counties  of  the  State.  The  few  pounds  of  honey 
and  wax  produced  are  consumed  at  home,  and  are 
scarcely  taken  into  account  among  the  coarser 
products  of  the  farm.  The  swarms  that  escape  from 
their  careless  owners  have  a  weary,  perplexing 
time  of  it  in  seeking  suitable  homes.  Most  of 
them  make  their  way  to  the  foot-hills  of  the  moun- 
tains, or  to  the  trees  that  line  the  banks  of  the 
rivers,  where  some  hollow  log  or  trunk  may  be 
found.  A  friend  of  mine,  while  out  hunting  on 
the  San  Joaquin,  came  upon  an  old  coon  trap, 
hidden  among  some  tall  grass,  near  the  edge  of  the 
river,  upon  which  he  sat  down  to  rest.  Shortly 
afterward  his  attention  was  attracted  to  a  crowd 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  349 

of  angry  bees  that  were  flying  excitedly  about  his 
head,  when  he  discovered  that  he  was  sitting  upon 
their  hive,  which  was  found  to  contain  more  than 
200  pounds  of  honey.  Out  in  the  broad,  swampy 
delta  of  the  Sacramento  and  San  Joaquin  rivers, 
the  little  wanderers  have  been  known  to  build  their 
combs  in  a  bunch  of  rushes,  or  stiff,  wiry  grass,  only 
slightly  protected  from  the  weather,  and  in  dan- 
ger every  spring  of  being  carried  away  by  floods. 
They  have  the  advantage,  however,  of  a  vast  ex- 
tent of  fresh  pasture,  accessible  only  to  themselves. 
The  present  condition  of  the  Grand  Central  Gar- 
den is  very  different  from  that  we  have  sketched. 
About  twenty  years  ago,  when  the  gold  placers 
had  been  pretty  thoroughly  exhausted,  the  atten- 
tion of  fortune-seekers  —  not  home-seekers — was, 
in  great  part,  turned  away  from  the  mines  to  the 
fertile  plains,  and  many  began  experiments  in  a 
kind  of  restless,  wild  agriculture.  A  load  of  lum- 
ber would  be  hauled  to  some  spot  on  the  free 
wilderness,  where  water  could  be  easily  found,  and 
a  rude  box-cabin  built.  Then  a  gang-plow  was 
procured,  and  a  dozen  mustang  ponies,  worth  ten 
or  fifteen  dollars  apiece,  and  with  .these  hundreds 
of  acres  were  stirred  as  easily  as  if  the  land  had 
been  under  cultivation  for  years,  tough,  perennial 
roots  being  almost  wholly  absent.  Thus  a  ranch 
was  established,  and  from  these  bare  wooden  huts, 
as  centers  of  desolation,  the  wild  flora  vanished  in 
ever- widening  circles.  But  the  arch  destroyers 
are  the  shepherds,  with  their  flocks  of  hoofed 
locusts,  sweeping  over  the  ground  like  a  fire,  and 
trampling  down  every  rod  that  escapes  the  plow 


350  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

as  completely  as  if  the  whole  plain  were  a  cottage 
garden-plot  without  a  fence.  But  notwithstanding 
these  destroyers,  a  thousand  swarms  of  bees  may  be 
pastured  here  for  every  one  now  gathering  honey. 
The  greater  portion  is  still  covered  every  season 
with  a  repressed  growth  of  bee-flowers,  for  most 
of  the  species  are  annuals,  and  many  of  them  are 
not  relished  by  sheep  or  cattle,  while  the  rapidity 
of  their  growth  enables  them  to  develop  and  ma- 
ture their  seeds  before  any  foot  has  time  to  crush 
them.  The  ground  is,  therefore,  kept  sweet,  and 
the  race  is  perpetuated,  though  only  as  a  sugges- 
tive shadow  of  the  magnificence  of  its  wildness. 

The  time  will  undoubtedly  come  when  the  entire 
area  of  this  noble  valley  will  be  tilled  like  a  garden, 
when  the  fertilizing  waters  of  the  mountains,  now 
flowing  to  the  sea,  will  be  distributed  to  every  acre, 
giving  rise  to  prosperous  towns,  wealth,  arts,  etc. 
Then,  I  suppose,  there  will  be  few  left,  even  among 
botanists,  to  deplore  the  vanished  primeval  flora. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  pure  waste  going  on — the 
wanton  destruction  of  the  innocents — is  a  sad 
sight  to  see,  and  the  sun  may  well  be  pitied  in 
being  compelled  to  look  on. 

The  bee-pastures  of  the  Coast  Ranges  last  longer 
and  are  more  varied  than  those  of  the  great  plain, 
on  account  of  differences  of  soil  and  climate, 
moisture,  and  shade,  etc.  Some  of  the  mountains 
are  upward  of  4000  feet  in  height,  and  small 
streams,  springs,  oozy  bogs,  etc.,  occur  in  great 
abundance  and  variety  in  the  wooded  regions, 
while  open  parks,  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  hill- 
girt  valleys  lying  at  different  elevations,  each  with 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  351 

its  own  peculiar  climate  and  exposure,  possess  the 
required  conditions  for  the  development  of  species 
and  families  of  plants  widely  varied. 

Next  the  plain  there  is,  first,  a  series  of  smooth 
hills,  planted  with  a  rich  and  showy  vegetation 
that  differs  but  little  from  that  of  the  plain  itself — 
as  if  the  edge  of  the  plain  had  been  lifted  and  bent 
into  flowing  folds,  with  all  its  flowers  in  place, 
only  toned  down  a  little  as  to  their  luxuriance,  and 
a  few  new  species  introduced,  such  as  the  hill  lu- 
pines, mints,  and  gilias.  The  colors  show  finely 
when  thus  held  to  view  on  the  slopes;  patches  of 
red,  purple,  blue,  yellow,  and  white,  blending 
around  the  edges,  the  whole  appearing  at  a  little 
distance  like  a  map  colored  in  sections. 

Above  this  lies  the  park  and  chaparral  region, 
with  oaks,  mostly  evergreen,  planted  wide  apart, 
and  blooming  shrubs  from  three  to  ten  feet  high  ; 
manzanita  and  ceanothus  of  several  species,  mixed 
with  rhamnus,  cercis,  pickeringia,  cherry,  amelan- 
chier,  and  adenostoma,  in  shaggy,  interlocking 
thickets,  and  many  species  of  hosackia,  clover, 
monardella,  castilleia,  etc.,  in  the  openings. 

The  main  ranges  send  out  spurs  somewhat  par- 
allel to  their  axes,  inclosing  level  valleys,  many  of 
them  quite  extensive,  and  containing  a  great  pro- 
fusion of  sun-loving  bee-flowers  in  their  wild  state; 
but  these  are,  in  great  part,  already  lost  to  the 
bees  by  cultivation. 

Nearer  the  coast  are  the  giant  forests  of  the  red- 
woods, extending  from  near  the  Oregon  line  to 
Santa  Cruz.  Beneath  the  cool,  deep  shade  of  these 
maiestic  trees   the  ground  is  occupied  by  ferns, 


352  THE   MOUNTAINS   OP   CALIFORNIA 

chiefly  woodwardia  and  aspidiums,  with  only  a  few 
flowering  plants — oxalis,  trientalis,  erythroninm, 
fritillaria,  smilax,  and  other  shade-lovers.  Bnt  all 
along  the  redwood  belt  there  are  snnny  openings 
on  hill-slopes  looking  to  the  south,  where  the  giant 
trees  stand  back,  and  give  the  ground  to  the  small 
sunflowers  and  the  bees.  Around  the  lofty  red- 
wood walls  of  these  little  bee-acres  there  is  usually 
a  fringe  of  Chestnut  Oak,  Laurel,  and  Madrono, 
the  last  of  which  is  a  surpassingly  beautiful  tree, 
and  a  great  favorite  with  the  bees.  The  trunks 
of  the  largest  specimens  are  seven  or  eight  feet 
thick,  and  about  fifty  feet  high  ;  the  bark  red  and 
chocolate  colored,  the  leaves  plain,  large,  and 
glossy,  like  those  of  Magnolia  grandiflora,  while 
the  flowers  are  yellowish-white,  and  urn-shaped,  in 
well-proportioned  panicles,  from  five  to  ten  inches 
long.  When  in  full  bloom,  a  single  tree  seems  to 
be  visited  at  times  by  a  whole  hive  of  bees  at  once, 
and  the  deep  hum  of  such  a  multitude  makes  the 
listener  guess  that  more  than  the  ordinary  work  of 
honey- winning  must  be  going  on. 

How  perfectly  enchanting  and  care-obliterating 
are  these  withdrawn  gardens  of  the  woods — long 
vistas  opening  to  the  sea — sunshine  sifting  and 
pouring  upon  the  flowery  ground  in  a  tremulous, 
shifting  mosaic,  as  the  light- ways  in  the  leafy  wall 
open  and  close  with  the  swaying  breeze — shining 
leaves  and  flowers,  birds  and  bees,  mingling  to- 
gether in  springtime  harmony,  and  soothing  fra- 
grance exhaling  from  a  thousand  thousand  foun- 
tains !  In  these  balmy,  dissolving  days,  when  the 
deep  heart-beats  of  Nature  are  felt  thrilling  rocks 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  353 

and  trees  and  everything  alike,  common  business 
and  friends  are  happily  forgotten,  and  even  the 
natural  honey-work  of  bees,  and  the  care  of  birds 
for  their  young,  and  mothers  for  their  children, 
seem  slightly  out  of  place. 

To  the  northward,  in  Humboldt  and  the  adjacent 
counties,  whole  hillsides  are  covered  with  rhodo- 
dendron, making  a  glorious  melody  of  bee-bloom 
in  the  spring.  And  the  Western  azalea,  hardly  less 
flowery,  grows  in  massy  thickets  three  to  eight  feet 
high  around  the  edges  of  groves  and  woods  as  far 
south  as  San  Luis  Obispo,  usually  accompanied  by 
manzanita;  while  the  valleys,  with  their  varying 
moisture  and  shade,  yield  a  rich  variety  of  the 
smaller  honey-flowers,  such  as  mentha,  lycopus, 
micromeria,  audibertia,  trichostema,  and  other 
mints ;  with  vaccinium,  wild  strawberry,  geranium, 
Calais,  and  goldenrod ;  and  in  the  cool  glens  along 
the  stream-banks,  where  the  shade  of  trees  is  not 
too  deep,  spiraea,  dog- wood,  heteromeles,  and  caly- 
canthus,  and  many  species  of  rubus  form  inter- 
lacing tangles,  some  portion  of  which  continues 
in  bloom  for  months. 

Though  the  coast  region  was  the  first  to  be  in- 
vaded and  settled  by  white  men,  it  has  suffered  less 
from  a  bee  point  of  view  than  either  of  the  other 
main  divisions,  chiefly,  no  doubt,  because  of  the 
unevenness  of  the  surface,  and  because  it  is  owned 
and  protected  instead  of  lying  exposed  to  the  flocks 
of  the  wandering  "  sheepmen."  These  remarks  ap- 
ply more  particularly  to  the  north  half  of  the  coast. 
Farther  south  there  is  less  moisture,  less  forest 
shade,  and  the  honey  flora  is  less  varied. 


354  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

The  Sierra  region  is  the  largest  of  the  three  main 
divisions  of  the  bee-lands  of  the  State,  and  the 
most  regularly  varied  in  its  subdivisions,  owing  to 
their  gradual  rise  from  the  level  of  the  Central 
Plain  to  the  alpine  summits.  The  foot-hill  region 
is  about  as  dry  and  sunful,  from  the  end  of  May 
until  the  setting  in  of  the  winter  rains,  as  the 
plain.  There  are  no  shady  forests,  no  damp  glens, 
at  all  like  those  lying  at  the  same  elevations  in 
the  Coast  Mountains.  The  social  composite  of 
the  plain,  with  a  few  added  species,  form  the  bulk 
of  the  herbaceous  portion  of  the  vegetation  up  to  a 
height  of  1500  feet  or  more,  shaded  lightly  here  and 
there  with  oaks  and  Sabine  Pines,  and  interrupted 
by  patches  of  ceanothus  and  buckeye.  Above  this, 
and  just  below  the  forest  region,  there  is  a  dark, 
heath-like  belt  of  chaparral,  composed  almost  ex- 
clusively of  Adenostoma  fasciculata,  a  bush  belong- 
ing to  the  rose  family,  from  five  to  eight  feet  high, 
with  small,  round  leaves  in  fascicles,  and  bearing  a 
multitude  of  small  white  flowers  in  panicles  on  the 
ends  of  the  upper  branches.  Where  it  occurs  at 
all,  it  usuall}"  covers  all  the  ground  with  a  close, 
impenetrable  growth,  scarcely  broken  for  miles. 

Up  through  the  forest  region,  to  a  height  of 
about  9000  feet  above  sea-level,  there  are  ragged 
patches  of  manzanita,  and  five  or  six  species  of  cea- 
nothus, called  deer-brush  or  California  lilac.  These 
are  the  most  important  of  all  the  honey-bearing 
bushes  of  the  Sierra.  CJiamcebatia  folioJosa,  a  little 
shrub  about  a  foot  high,  with  flowers  like  the  straw- 
berry, makes  handsome  carpets  beneath  the  pines, 
and  seems  to  be  a  favorite  with  the  bees ;   while 


THE  BEE-PASTUKES  355 

pines  themselves  furnish  unlimited  quantities  of 
pollen  and  honey-dew.  The  product  of  a  sin- 
gle tree,  ripening  its  pollen  at  the  right  time  of 
year,  would  be  sufficient  for  the  wants  of  a  whole 
hive.  Along  the  streams  there  is  a  rich  growth  of 
lilies,  larkspurs,  pedicularis,  castilleias,  and  clover. 
The  alpine  region  contains  the  flowery  glacier 
meadows,  and  countless  small  gardens  in  all  sorts 
of  places  full  of  potentilla  of  several  species, 
spraguea,  ivesia,  epilobium,  and  goldenrod,  with 
beds  of  bryanthus  and  the  charming  cassiope  cov- 
ered with  sweet  bells.  Even  the  tops  of  the  moun- 
tains are  blessed  with  flowers, —  dwarf  phlox,  pole- 
monium,  ribes,  hulsea,  etc.  I  have  seen  wild  bees 
and  butterflies  feeding  at  a  height  of  13,000  feet 
above  the  sea.  Many,  however,  that  go  up  these 
dangerous  heights  never  come  down  again.  Some, 
undoubtedly,  perish  in  storms,  and  I  have  found 
thousands  lying  dead  or  benumbed  on  the  surface 
of  the  glaciers,  to  which  they  had  perhaps  been 
attracted  by  the  white  glare,  taking  them  for  beds 
of  bloom. 

From  swarms  that  escaped  their  owners  in  the 
lowlands,  the  honey-bee  is  now  generally  distrib- 
uted throughout  the  whole  length  of  the  Sierra, 
up  to  an  elevation  of  8000  feet  above  sea-level.  At 
this  height  they  flourish  without  care,  though  the 
snow  every  winter  is  deep.  Even  higher  than  this 
several  bee-trees  have  been  cut  which  contained 
over  200  pounds  of  honey. 

The  destructive  action  of  sheep  has  not  been  so 
general  on  the  mountain  pastures  as  on  those  of 
the  great  plain,  but  in  many  places  it  has  been 


356  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOENIA 

more  complete,  owing  to  the  more  friable  character 
of  the  soil,  and  its  sloping  position.  The  slant 
digging  and  down-raking  action  of  hoofs  on  the 
steeper  slopes  of  moraines  has  uprooted  and  bu- 
ried many  of  the  tender  plants  from  year  to 
year,  without  allowing  them  time  to  mature  their 
seeds.  The  shrubs,  too,  are  badly  bitten,  especially 
the  various  species  of  ceanothus.  Fortunately, 
neither  sheep  nor  cattle  care  to  feed  on  the  manza- 
nita,  spiraea,  or  adenostoma ;  and  these  fine  honey- 
bushes  are  too  stiff  and  tall,  or  grow  in  places  too 
rough  and  inaccessible,  to  be  trodden  under  foot. 
Also  the  canon  walls  and  gorges,  which  form  so 
considerable  a  part  of  the  area  of  the  range,  while 
inaccessible  to  domestic  sheep,  are  well  fringed 
with  honey-shrubs,  and  contain  thousands  of 
lovely  bee-gardens,  lying  hid  in  narrow  side-canons 
and  recesses  fenced  with  avalanche  taluses,  and  on 
the  top  of  flat,  projecting  headlands,  where  only 
bees  would  think  to  look  for  them. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  a  great  portion  of  the 
woody  plants  that  escape  the  feet  and  teeth  of  the 
sheep  are  destroyed  by  the  shepherds  by  means  of 
running  fires,  which  are  set  everywhere  during  the 
dry  autumn  for  the  purpose  of  burning  off  the  old 
fallen  trunks  and  underbrush,  with  a  view  to  im- 
proving the  pastures,  and  making  more  open  ways 
for  the  flocks.  These  destructive  sheep-fires  sweep 
through  nearly  the  entire  forest  belt  of  the  range, 
from  one  extremity  to  the  other,  consuming  not 
only  the  underbrush,  but  the  young  trees  and  seed- 
lings on  which  the  permanence  of  the  forests  de- 
pends ;  thus  setting  in  motion  a  long  train  of  evils 


358  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

which  will  certainly  reach  far  beyond  bees  and  bee- 
keepers. 

The  plow  has  not  yet  invaded  the  forest  region 
to  any  appreciable  extent,  neither  has  it  accom- 
plished much  in  the  foot-hills.  Thousands  of  bee- 
ranches  might  be  established  along  the  margin  of 
the  plain,  and  up  to  a  height  of  4000  feet,  wherever 
water  could  be  obtained.  The  climate  at  this  ele- 
vation admits  of  the  making  of  permanent  homes, 
and  by  moving  the  hives  to  higher  pastures  as  the 
lower  pass  out  of  bloom,  the  annual  yield  of  honey 
would  be  nearly  doubled.  The  foot-hill  pastures, 
as  we  have  seen,  fail  about  the  end  of  May,  those 
of  the  chaparral  belt  and  lower  forests  are  in  full 
bloom  in  June,  those  of  the  upper  and  alpine 
region  in  July,  August,  and  September.  In  Scot- 
land, after  the  best  of  the  Lowland  bloom  is  past, 
the  bees  are  carried  in  carts  to  the  Highlands,  and 
set  free  on  the  heather  hills.  In  France,  too,  and 
in  Poland,  they  are  carried  from  pasture  to  pasture 
among  orchards  and  fields  in  the  same  way,  and 
along  the  rivers  in  barges  to  collect  the  honey  of 
the  delightful  vegetation  of  the  banks.  In  Egypt 
they  are  taken  far  up  the  Nile,  and  floated  slowly 
home  again,  gathering  the  honey-harvest  of  the 
various  fields  on  the  way,  timing  their  movements 
in  accord  with  the  seasons.  Were  similar  methods 
pursued  in  California  the  productive  season  would 
last  nearly  all  the  year. 

The  average  elevation  of  the  north  half  of  the 
Sierra  is,  as  we  have  seen,  considerably  less  than 
that  of  the  south  half,  and  small  streams,  with  the 
bank  and  meadow  gardens  dependent  upon  them, 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  359 

are  less  abundant.  Around  the  head  waters  of  the 
Yuba,  Feather,  and  Pitt  rivers,  the  extensive  table- 
lands of  lava  are  sparsely  planted  with  pines, 
through  which  the  sunshine  reaches  the  ground 
with  little  interruption.  Here  flourishes  a  scat- 
tered, tufted  growth  of  golden  applopappus,  linosy- 
ris,  bahia,  wyetheia,  arnica,  artemisia,  and  similar 
plants;  with  manzanita,  cherry,  plum,  and  thorn 
in  ragged  patches  on  the  cooler  hill-slopes.  At  the 
extremities  of  the  Great  Central  Plain,  the  Sierra 
and  Coast  Ranges  curve  around  and  lock  together 
in  a  labyrinth  of  mountains  and  valleys,  through- 
out which  their  floras  are  mingled,  making  at  the 
north,  with  its  temperate  climate  and  copious  rain- 
fall, a  perfect  paradise  for  bees,  though,  strange  to 
say,  scarcely  a  single  regular  bee-ranch  has  yet  been 
established  in  it. 

Of  all  the  upper  flower  fields  of  the  Sierra, 
Shasta  is  the  most  honeyful,  and  may  yet  surpass 
in  fnme  the  celebrated  honey  hills  of  Hybla  and 
hearthy  Hymettus.  Regarding  this  noble  moun- 
tain from  a  bee  point  of  view,  encircled  by  its 
many  climates,  and  sweeping  aloft  from  the  tor- 
rid plain  into  the  frosty  azure,  we  find  the  first 
5000  feet  from  the  summit  generally  snow-clad, 
and  therefore  about  as  honeyless  as  the  sea.  The 
base  of  this  arctic  region  is  girdled  by  a  belt  of 
crumbling  lava  measuring  about  1000  feet  in  ver- 
tical breadth,  and  is  mostly  free  from  snow  in 
summer.  Beautiful  lichens  enliven  the  faces  of  the 
cliffs  with  their  bright  colors,  and  in  some  of  the 
warmer  nooks  there  are  a  few  tufts  of  alpine  daisies, 
wall-flowers  and  pentstemons;  but, notwithstanding 


360  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

these  bloom  freely  in  the  late  summer,  the  zone  as 
a  whole  is  almost  as  honeyless  as  the  icy  summit, 
and  its  lower  edge  may  be  taken  as  the  honey-line. 
Immediately  below  this  comes  the  forest  zone,  cov- 
ered with  a  rich  growth  of  conifers,  chiefly  Silver 
Firs,  rich  in  pollen  and  honey-dew,  and  diversified 
with  countless  garden  openings,  many  of  them  less 
than  a  hundred  yards  across.  Next,  in  orderly  suc- 
cession, comes  the  great  bee  zone.  Its  area  far  sur- 
passes that  of  the  icy  summit  and  both  the  other 
zones  combined,  for  it  goes  sweeping  majestically 
around  the  entire  mountain,  with  a  breadth  of  six 
or  seven  miles  and  a  circumference  of  nearly  a 
hundred  miles. 

Shasta,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  a  fire-moun- 
tain created  by  a  succession  of  eruptions  of  ashes 
and  molten  lava,  which,  flowing  over  the  lips  of  its 
several  craters,  grew  outward  and  upward  like  the 
trunk  of  a  knotty  exogenous  tree.  Then  followed 
a  strange  contrast.  The  glacial  winter  came  on, 
loading  the  cooling  mountain  with  ice,  which 
flowed  slowly  outward  in  every  direction,  radiating 
from  the  summit  in  the  form  of  one  vast  conical 
glacier  —  a  down-crawling  mantle  of  ice  upon  a 
fountain  of  smoldering  fire,  crushing  and  grinding 
for  centuries  its  brown,  flinty  lavas  with  incessant 
activity,  and  thus  degrading  and  remodeling  the 
entire  mountain.  When,  at  length,  the  glacial 
period  began  to  draw  near  its  close,  the  ice-mantle 
Was  gradually  melted  off  around  the  bottom,  and, 
in  receding  and  breaking  into  its  present  fragmen- 
tary condition,  irregular  rings  and  heaps  of  mo- 
raine matter  were   stored  upon  its  flanks.    The 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  361 

glacial  erosion  of  most  of  the  Shasta  lavas  pro- 
duces detritus,  composed  of  rough,  sub-angular 
boulders  of  moderate  size  and  of  porous  gravel  and 
sand,  which  yields  freely  to  the  transporting  power 
of  running  water.  Magnificent  floods  from  the 
ample  fountains  of  ice  and  snow  working  with 
sublime  energy  upon  this  prepared  glacial  detritus, 
sorted  it  out  and  carried  down  immense  quantities 
from  the  higher  slopes,  and  reformed  it  in  smooth, 
delta-like  beds  around  the  base;  and  it  is  these 
flood-beds  joined  together  that  now  form  the  main 
honey-zone  of  the  old  volcano. 

Thus,  by  forces  seemingly  antagouistic  and  de- 
structive, has  Mother  Nature  accomplished  her 
beneficent  designs — now  a  flood  of  fire,  now  a  flood 
of  ice,  now  a  flood  of  water ;  and  at  length  an  out- 
burst of  organic  life,  a  milky  way  of  snowy  petals 
and  wings,  girdling  the  rugged  mountain  like  a 
cloud,  as  if  the  vivifying  sunbeams  beating  against 
its  sides  had  broken  into  a  foam  of  plant-bloom 
and  bees,  as  sea-waves  break  and  bloom  on  a 
rock  shore. 

In  this  flowery  wilderness  the  bees  rove  and  revel, 
rejoicing  in  the  bounty  of  the  sun,,  clambering  eag- 
erly through  bramble  and  hucklebloom,  ringing  the 
myriad  bells  of  the  mauzanita,  now  humming  aloft 
among  polleny  willows  and  firs,  now  down  on  the 
ashy  ground  among  gilias  and  buttercups,  and  anon 
plunging  deep  into  snowy  banks  of  cherry  and 
buckthorn.  They  consider  the  lilies  and  roll  into 
them,  and,  like  lilies,  they  toil  not,  for  they  are 
impelled  by  sun-power,  as  water-wheels  by  water- 
power  ;  and  when  the  one  has  plenty  of  high-pres- 


362  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFOKNIA 

sure  water,  the  other  plenty  of  sunshine,  they  hum 
and  quiver  alike.  Sauntering  in  the  Shasta  bee-lands 
in  the  sun-days  of  summer,  one  may  readily  infer 
the  time  of  day  from  the  comparative  energy  of 
bee-movements  alone — drowsy  and  moderate  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning,  increasing  in  energy  with 
the  ascending  sun,  and,  at  high  noon,  thrilling  and 
quivering  in  wild  ecstasy,  then  gradually  declining 
again  to  the  stillness  of  night.  In  my  excursions 
among  the  glaciers  I  occasionally  meet  bees  that 
are  hungry,  like  mountaineers  who  venture  too  far 
and  remain  too  long  above  the  bread-line;  then 
they  droop  and  wither  like  autumn  leaves.  The 
Shasta  bees  are  perhaps  better  fed  than  any  others 
in  the  Sierra.  Their  field-work  is  one  perpetual 
feast;  but,  however  exhilarating  the  sunshine  or 
bountiful  the  supply  of  flowers,  they  are  always 
dainty  feeders.  Humming-moths  and  humming- 
birds seldom  set  foot  upon  a  flower,  but  poise  on 
the  wing  in  front  of  it,  and  reach  forward  as  if 
they  were  sucking  through  straws.  But  bees, 
though  as  dainty  as  they,  hug  their  favorite  flow- 
ers with  profound  cordiality,  and  push  their  blunt, 
polleny  faces  against  them,  like  babies  on  their 
mother's  bosom.  And  fondly,  too,  with  eternal 
love,  does  Mother  Nature  clasp  her  small  bee-babies, 
and  suckle  them,  multitudes  at  once,  on  her  warm 
Shasta  breast. 

Besides  the  common  honey-bee  there  are  many 
other  species  here — fine  mossy,  burly  fellows,  who 
were  nourished  on  the  mountains  thousands  of 
sunny  seasons  before  the  advent  of  the  domestic 
species.     Among  these  are  the  bumblebees,  mason- 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  363 

bees,  carpenter-bees,  and  leaf-cutters.  Butterflies, 
too,  and  moths  of  every  size  and  pattern;  some 
broad- winged  like  bats,  flapping  slowly,  and  sailing 
in  easy  curves;  others  like  small,  flying  violets, 
shaking  about  loosely  in  short,  crooked  flights  close 
to  the  flowers,  feasting  luxuriously  night  and  day. 
Great  numbers  of  deer  also  delight  to  dwell  in  the 
brushy  portions  of  the  bee-pastures. 

Bears,  too,  roam  the  sweet  wilderness,  their  blunt, 
shaggy  forms  harmonizing  well  with  the  trees  and 
tangled  bushes,  and  with  the  bees,  also,  notwith- 
standing the  disparity  in  size.  They  are  fond  of 
all  good  things,  and  enjoy  them  to  the  utmost,  with 
but  little  troublesome  discrimination — flowers  and 
leaves  as  well  as  berries,  and  the  bees  themselves  as 
well  as  their  honey.  Though  the  California  bears 
have  as  yet  had  but  little  experience  with  honey- 
bees, they  often  succeed  in  reaching  their  bountiful 
stores,  and  it  seems  doubtful  whether  bees  them- 
selves enjoy  honey  with  so  great  a  relish.  By 
means  of  their  powerful  teeth  and  claws  they  can 
gnaw  and  tear  open  almost  any  hive  conveniently 
accessible.  Most  honey-bees,  however,  in  search  of 
a  home  are  wise  enough  to  make  choice  of  a  hollow 
in  a  living  tree,  a  considerable  distance  above  the 
ground,  when  such  places  are  to  be  had ;  then  they 
are  pretty  secure,  for  though  the  smaller  black  and 
brown  bears  climb  well,  they  are  unable  to  break 
into  strong  hives  while  compelled  to  exert  them- 
selves to  keep  from  falling,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
endure  the  stings  of  the  fighting  bees  without  hav- 
ing their  paws  free  to  rub  them  off.  But  woe  to 
the  black  bumblebees  discovered  in   their  mossy 


364  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFOKNIA 

nests  in  the  ground !  With  a  few  strokes  of  their 
huge  paws  the  bears  uncover  the  entire  establish- 
ment, and,  before  time  is  given  for  a  general  buzz, 
bees  old  and  young,  larva?,  honey,  stings,  nest,  and 
all  are  taken  in  one  ravishing  mouthful. 

Not  the  least  influential  of  the  agents  concerned 
in  the  superior  sweetness  of  the  Shasta  flora  are  its 
storms — storms  I  mean  that  are  strictly  local,  bred 
and  born  on  the  mountain.  The  magical  rapidity 
with  which  they  are  grown  on  the  mountain-top, 
and  bestow  their  charity  in  rain  and  snow,  never 
fails  to  astonish  the  inexperienced  lowlander.  Often 
in  calm,  glowing  days,  while  the  bees  are  still  on  the 
wing,  a  storm-cloud  may  be  seen  far  above  in  the 
pure  ether,  swelling  its  pearl  bosses,  and  growing 
silently,  like  a  plant.  Presently  a  clear,  ringing 
discharge  of  thunder  is  heard,  followed  by  a  rush 
of  wind  that  comes  sounding  over  the  bending 
woods  like  the  roar  of  the  ocean,  mingling  rain- 
drops, snow-flowers,  honey-flowers,  and  bees  in 
wild  storm  harmony. 

Still  more  impressive  are  the  warm,  reviving  days 
of  spring  in  the  mountain  pastures.  The  blood  of 
the  plants  throbbing  beneath  the  life-giving  sun- 
shine seems  to  be  heard  and  felt.  Plant  growth  goes 
on  before  our  eyes,  and  every  tree  in  the  woods,  and 
every  bush  and  flower  is  seen  as  a  hive  of  restless  in- 
dustry. The  deeps  of  the  sky  are  mottled  with 
singing  wings  of  every  tone  and  color ;  clouds  of 
brilliant  chrysididse  dancing  and  swirling  in  ex- 
quisite rhythm,  golden-barred  vespidae,  dragon-flies, 
butterflies,  grating  cicadas,  and  jolly,  rattling 
grasshoppers,  fairly  enameling  the  light. 


366  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

On  bright,  crisp  mornings  a  striking  optical  ef- 
fect may  frequently  be  observed  from  the  shadows 
of  the  higher  mountains  while  the  sunbeams  are 
pouring  past  overhead.  Then  every  insect,  no 
matter  what  may  be  its  own  proper  color,  burns 
white  in  the  light.  Gauzy-winged  hymenoptera, 
moths,  jet-black  beetles,  all  are  transfigured  alike 
in  pure,  spiritual  white,  like  snowflakes. 

In  Southern  California,  where  bee-culture  has 
had  so  much  skilful  attention  of  late  years,  the 
pasturage  is  not  more  abundant,  or  more  advan- 
tageously varied  as  to  the  number  of  its  honey- 
plants  and  their  distribution  over  mountain  and 
plain,  than  that  of  many  other  portions  of  the 
State  where  the  industrial  currents  flow  in  other 
channels.  The  famous  White  Sage  (Audibertia), 
belonging  to  the  mint  family,  flourishes  here  in  all 
its  glory,  blooming  in  May,  and  yielding  great 
quantities  of  clear,  pale  honey,  which  is  greatly 
prized  in  every  market  it  has  yet  reached.  This 
species  grows  chiefly  in  the  valleys  and  low  hills. 
The  Black  Sage  on  the  mountains  is  part  of  a  dense, 
thorny  chaparral,  which  is  composed  chiefly  of  ad- 
enostoma,  ceanothus,  manzanita,  and  cherry — not 
differing  greatly  from  that  of  the  southern  portion 
of  the  Sierra,  but  more  dense  and  continuous,  and 
taller,  and  remaining  longer  in  bloom.  Stream- 
side  gardens,  so  charming  a  feature  of  both  the 
Sierra  and  Coast  Mountains,  are  less  numerous  in 
Southern  California,  but  they  are  exceedingly  rich 
in  honey-flowers,  wherever  found, —  melilotus,  col- 
umbine, collinsia,  verbena,  zauschneria,  wild  rose, 
honeysuckle,  philadelphus,  and  lilies  rising  from 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  367 

the  warm,  moist  dells  in  a  very  storm  of  exuber- 
ance. Wild  buckwheat  of  many  species  is  devel- 
oped in  abundance  over  the  dry,  sandy  valleys  and 
lower  slopes  of  the  mountains,  toward  the  end  of 
summer,  and  is,  at  this  time,  the  main  dependence 
of  the  bees,  reinforced  here  and  there  by  orange 
groves,  alfalfa  fields,  and  small  home  gardens. 

The  main  honey  months,  in  ordinary  seasons, 
are  April,  May,  June,  July,  and  August ;  while  the 
ether  months  are  usually  flowery  enough  to  yield 
sufficient  for  the  bees. 

According  to  Mr.  J.  T.  Gordon,  President  of  the 
Los  Angeles  County  Bee-keepers'  Association,  the 
first  bees  introduced  into  the  county  were  a  single 
hive,  which  cost  $150  in  San  Francisco,  and  arrived 
in  September,  1854.1  In  April,  of  the  following 
year,  this  hive  sent  out  two  swarms,  which  were 
sold  for  $100  each.  From  this  small  beginning 
the  bees  gradually  multiplied  to  about  3000  swarms 
in  the  year  1873.  In  1876  it  was  estimated  that 
there  were  between  15,000  and  20,000  hives  in  the 
county,  producing  an  annual  yield  of  about  100 
pounds  to  the  hive — in  some  exceptional  cases,  a 
much  greater  yield. 

In  San  Diego  County,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
season  of  1878,  there  were  about  24,000  hives,  and 
the  shipments  from  the  one  port  of  San  Diego  for 
the  same  year,  from  July  17  to  November  10,  were 
1071  barrels,  15,544  cases,  and  nearly  90  tons.    The 

1  fifteen  hives  of  Italian  bees  were  introduced  into  Los  Angeles 
(Jounty  in  1855,  and  in  1876  they  had  increased  to  500.  The  marked 
superiority  claimed  for  them  over  the  common  species  is  now  at- 
tracting considerable  attention- 


368  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

largest  bee-ranches  have  about  a  thousand  hives, 
and  are  carefully  and  skilfully  managed,  every 
scientific  appliance  of  merit  being  brought  into 
use.  There  are  few  bee-keepers,  however,  who 
own  half  as  many  as  this,  or  who  give  their  undi- 
vided attention  to  the  business.  Orange  culture, 
at  present,  is  heavily  overshadowing  every  other 
business. 

A  good  many  of  the  so-called  bee-ranches  of  Los 
Angeles  and  San  Diego  counties  are  still  of  the 
rudest  pioneer  kind  imaginable.  A  man  unsuc- 
cessful in  everything  else  hears  the  interesting 
story  of  the  profits  and  comforts  of  bee-keeping, 
and  concludes  to  try  it ;  he  buys  a  few  colonies,  or 
gets  them  from  some  overstocked  ranch  on  shares, 
takes  them  back  to  the  foot  of  some  canon,  where 
the  pasturage  is  fresh,  squats  on  the  land,  with, 
or  without,  the  permission  of  the  owner,  sets  up 
his  hives,  makes  a  box-cabin  for  himself,  scarcely 
bigger  than  a  bee-hive,  and  awaits  his  fortune. 

Bees  suffer  sadly  from  famine  during  the  dry 
years  which  occasionally  occur  in  the  southern 
and  middle  portions  of  the  State.  If  the  rainfall 
amounts  only  to  three  or  four  inches,  instead  of 
from  twelve  to  twenty,  as  in  ordinary  seasons,  then 
sheep  and  cattle  die  in  thousands,  and  so  do  these 
small,  winged  cattle,  unless  they  are  carefully  fed, 
or  removed  to  other  pastures.  The  year  1877  will 
long  be  remembered  as  exceptionally  rainless  and 
distressing.  Scarcely  a  flower  bloomed  on  the  dry 
valleys  away  from  the  stream-sides,  and  not  a 
single  grain-field  depending  upon  rain  was  reaped. 
The  seed  only  sprouted,  came  up  a  little  way,  and 


'   ~-"*-r 


A    BEE-RANCH    ON    A    SPUR    OF    THE    SAN    GABRIEL    RANGE. 
CARDINAL    FLOWER. 
24 


370  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

withered.  Horses,  cattle,  and  sheep  grew  thinner 
day  by  day,  nibbling  at  bnshes  and  weeds,  along 
the  shallowing  edges  of  streams,  many  of  which 
were  dried  np  altogether,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  settlement  of  the  country. 

In  the  course  of  a  trip  I  made  during  the  sum- 
mer of  that  year  through  Monterey,  San  Luis 
Obispo,  Santa  Barbara,  Ventura,  and  Los  Angeles 
counties,  the  deplorable  effects  of  the  drought  were 
everywhere  visible  —  leafless  fields,  dead  and  dying 
cattle,  dead  bees,  and  half -dead  people  with  dusty, 
doleful  faces.  Even  the  birds  and  squirrels  were 
in  distress,  though  their  suffering  was  less  pain- 
fully apparent  than  that  of  the  poor  cattle.  These 
were  falling  one  by  one  in  slow,  sure  starvation 
along  the  banks  of  the  hot,  sluggish  streams,  while 
thousands  of  buzzards  correspondingly  fat  were 
sailing  above  them,  or  standing  gorged  on  the 
ground  beneath  the  trees,  waiting  with  easy  faith 
for  fresh  carcasses.  The  quails,  prudently  consid- 
ering the  hard  times,  abandoned  all  thought  of 
pairing.  They  were  too  poor  to  marry,  and  so 
continued  in  flocks  all  through  the  year  without 
attempting  to  rear  young.  The  ground-squirrels, 
though  an  exceptionally  industrious  and  enterpris- 
ing race,  as  every  farmer  knows,  were  hard  pushed 
for  a  living;  not  a  fresh  leaf  or  seed  was  to  be 
found  save  in  the  trees,  whose  bossy  masses  of 
dark  green  foliage  presented  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  ashen  baldness  of  the  ground  beneath  them. 
The  squirrels,  leaving  their  accustomed  feeding- 
grounds,  betook  themselves  to  the  leafy  oaks  to 
gnaw  out  the  acorn  stores  of  the  provident  wood- 


372  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  CALIFOENIA 

peckers,  but  the  latter  kept  up  a  vigilant  watch 
upon  their  movements.  I  noticed  four  woodpeckers 
in  league  against  one  squirrel,  driving  the  poor 
fellow  out  of  an  oak  that  they  claimed.  He  dodged 
round  the  knotty  trunk  from  side  to  side,  as 
nimbly  as  he  could  in  his  famished  condition,  only 
to  find  a  sharp  bill  everywhere.  But  the  fate  of 
the  bees  that  year  seemed  the  saddest  of  all. 
In  different  portions  of  Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego 
counties,  from  one  half  to  three  fourths  of  them 
died  of  sheer  starvation.  Not  less  than  18,000 
colonies  perished  in  these  two  counties  alone,  while 
in  the  adjacent  counties  the  death-rate  was  hardly 
less. 

Even  the  colonies  nearest  to  the  mountains  suf- 
fered this  year,  for  the  smaller  vegetation  on  the 
foot-hills  was  affected  by  the  drought  almost  as 
severely  as  that  of  the  valleys  and  plains,  and  even 
the  hardy,  deep-rooted  chaparral,  the  surest  de- 
pendence of  the  bees,  bloomed  sparingly,  while 
much  of  it  was  beyond  reach.  Every  swarm  could 
have  been  saved,  however,  by  promptly  supplying 
them  with  food  when  their  own  stores  began  to  fail, 
and  before  they  became  enfeebled  and  discouraged; 
or  by  cutting  roads  back  into  the  mountains,  and 
taking  them  into  the  heart  of  the  flowery  chapar- 
ral. The  Santa  Lucia,  San  Rafael,  San  Gabriel, 
San  Jacinto,  and  San  Bernardino  ranges  are  almost 
untouched  as  yet  save  by  the  wild  bees.  Some 
idea  of  their  resources,  and  of  the  advantages  and 
disadvantages  they  offer  to  bee-keepers,  may  be 
formed  from  an  excursion  that  I  made  into  the 
San  Gabriel  Range  about  the  beginning  of  August 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  373 

of  "the  dry  year."  This  range,  containing  most  of 
the  characteristic  features  of  the  oilier  ranges  just 
mentioned,  overlooks  the  Los  Angeles  vineyards 
and  orange  groves  from  the  north,  and  is  more 
rigidly  inaccessible  in  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the 
word  than  any  other  that  I  ever  attempted  to 
penetrate.  The  slopes  are  exceptionally  steep 
and  insecure  to  the  foot,  and  they  are  covered  with 
thorny  bushes  from  five  to  ten  feet  high.  With 
the  exception  of  little  spots  not  visible  in  general 
views,  the  entire  surface  is  covered  with  them, 
massed  in  close  hedge  growth,  sweeping  gracefully 
down  into  every  gorge  and  hollow,  and  swelling 
over  every  ridge  and  summit  in  shaggy,  ungovern- 
able exuberance,  offering  more  honey  to  the  acre 
for  half  the  year  than  the  most  crowded  clover- 
field.  But  when  beheld  from  the  open  San  Gabriel 
Valley,  beaten  with  dry  sunshine,  all  that  was  seen 
of  the  range  seemed  to  wear  a  forbidding  aspect. 
From  base  to  summit  all  seemed  gray,  barren, 
silent,  its  glorious  chaparral  appearing  like  dry 
moss  creeping  over  its  dull,  wrinkled  ridges  and 
hollows. 

Setting  out  from  Pasadena,  I  reached  the  foot  of 
the  range  about  sundown;  and  being  weary  and 
heated  with  my  walk  across  the  shadeless  valley, 
concluded  to  camp  for  the  night.  After  resting  a 
few  moments,  I  began  to  look  about  among  the 
flood-boulders  of  Eaton  Creek  for  a  camp-ground, 
when  I  came  upon  a  strange,  dark-looking  man 
who  had  been  chopping  cord- wood.  He  seemed 
surprised  at  seeing  me,  so  I  sat  down  with  him  on 
the  live-oak  I02'  he  had  been  cutting,  and  made 


374  THE  MOUNTAINS   OF  CALIFORNIA 

haste  to  give  a  reason  for  my  appearance  in  his 
solitude,  explaining  that  I  was  anxious  to  find  out 
something  about  the  mountains,  and  meant  to  make 
my  way  up  Eaton  Creek  next  morning.  Then  he 
kindly  invited  me  to  camp  with  him,  and  led  me 
to  his  little  cabin,  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains, where  a  small  spring  oozes  out  of  a  bank 
overgrown  with  wild-rose  bushes.  After  supper, 
when  the  daylight  was  gone,  he  explained  that  he 
was  out  of  candles;  so  we  sat  in  the  dark,  while  he 
gave  me  a  sketch  of  his  life  in  a  mixture  of  Span- 
ish and  English.  He  was  born  in  Mexico,  his 
father  Irish,  his  mother  Spanish.  He  had  been  a 
miner,  rancher,  prospector,  hunter,  etc.,  rambling 
always,  and  wearing  his  life  away  in  mere  waste ; 
but  now  he  was  going  to  settle  down.  His  past 
life,  he  said,  was  of  "  no  account,"  but  the  future 
was  promising.  He  was  going  to  "make  money 
and  marry  a  Spanish  woman."  People  mine  here 
for  water  as  for  gold.  He  had  been  running 
a  tunnel  into  a  spur  of  the  mountain  back  of  his 
cabin.  "  My  prospect  is  good,"  he  said,  "  and  if  I 
chance  to  strike  a  good,  strong  flow,  I  '11  soon  be 
worth  $5000  or  $10,000.  For  that  flat  out  there," 
referring  to  a  small,  irregular  patch  of  bouldery 
detritus,  two  or  three  acres  in  size,  that  had  been 
deposited  by  Eaton  Creek  during  some  flood  sea- 
son,— "that  flat  is  large  enough  for  a  nice  orange- 
grove,  and  the  bank  behind  the  cabin  will  do  for  a 
vineyard,  and  after  watering  my  own  trees  and 
vines  I  will  have  some  water  left  to  sell  to  my 
neighbors  below  me,  down  the  valley.  And  then," 
he  continued,  "I  can  keep  bees,  and  make  money 


A    BEE-PASTURE    ON    THE 


.    MOKAINE    DESERT.      SPANISH    BAYONET. 


376  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   CALIFORNIA 

that  way,  too,  for  the  mountains  above  here  are 
just  full  of  honey  in  the  summer-time,  and  one  of 
my  neighbors  down  here  says  that  he  will  let  me 
have  a  whole  lot  of  hives,  on  shares,  to  start  with. 
You  see  I  've  a  good  thing ;  I  'm  all  right  now." 
All  this  prospective  affluence  in  the  sunken, 
boulder-choked  flood-bed  of  a  mountain-stream! 
Leaving  the  bees  out  of  the  count,  most  fortune- 
seekers  would  as  soon  think  of  settling  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Shasta.  Next  morning,  wishing 
my  hopeful  entertainer  good  luck,  I  set  out  on  my 
shaggy  excursion. 

About  half  an  hour's  walk  above  the  cabin,  I 
came  to  "  The  Fall,"  famous  throughout  the  valley 
settlements  as  the  finest  yet  discovered  in  the  San 
Gabriel  Mountains.  It  is  a  charming  little  thing, 
with  a  low,  sweet  voice,  singing  like  a  bird,  as  it 
pours  from  a  notch  in  a  short  ledge,  some  thirty- 
five  or  forty  feet  into  a  round  mirror-pool.  The 
face  of  the  cliff  back  of  it,  and  on  both  sides,  is 
smoothly  covered  and  embossed  with  mosses, 
against  which  the  white  water  shines  out  in  showy 
relief,  like  a  silver  instrument  in  a  velvet  case. 
Hither  come  the  San  Gabriel  lads  and  lassies,  to 
gather  ferns  and  dabble  away  their  hot  holidays  in 
the  cool  water,  glad  to  escape  from  their  common- 
place palm-gardens  and  orange-groves.  The  delicate 
maidenhair  grows  on  fissured  rocks  within  reach 
of  the  spray,  while  broad-leaved  maples  and  syca- 
mores cast  soft,  mellow  shade  over  a  rich  profusion 
of  bee-flowers,  growing  among  boulders  in  front  of 
the  pool — the  fall,  the  flowers,  the  bees,  the  ferny 
rocks,  and  leafy  shade  forming  a  charming  little 


THE   BEE-PASTURES  377 

r)oem  of  wildness,  the  last  of  a  series  extending 
down  the  flowery  slopes  of  Mount  San  Antonio 
through  the  rugged,  foam-beaten  bosses  of  the 
main  Eaton  Canon. 

From  the  base  of  the  fall  I  followed  the  ridge  that 
forms  the  western  rim  of  the  Eaton  basin  to  the 
summit  of  one  of  the  principal  peaks,  which  is 
about  5000  feet  above  sea-level.  Then,  turning 
eastward,  I  crossed  the  middle  of  the  basin,  forcing 
a  way  over  its  many  subordinate  ridges  and  across 
its  eastern  rim,  having  to  contend  almost  every- 
where with  the  floweriest  and  most  impenetrable 
growth  of  honey-bushes  I  had  ever  encountered 
since  first  my  mountaineering  began.  Most  of  the 
Shasta  chaparral  is  leafy  nearly  to  the  ground ; 
here  the  main  stems  are  naked  for  three  or  four 
feet,  and  interspiked  with  dead  twigs,  forming  a 
stiff  chevaux  defrise  through  which  even  the  bears 
make  their  way  with  difficulty.  I  was  compelled 
to  creep  for  miles  on  all  fours,  and  in  following  the 
bear-trails  often  found  tufts  of  hair  on  the  bushes 
where  they  had  forced  themselves  through. 

For  100  feet  or  so  above  the  fall  the  ascent  was 
made  possible  only  by  tough  cushions  of  club-nx>ss 
that  clung  to  the  rock.  Above  this  the  ridge  wea- 
thers away  to  a  thin  knife-blade  for  a  few  hundred 
yards,  and  thence  to  the  summit  of  the  range  it  car- 
ries a  bristly  mane  of  chaparral.  Here  and  there 
small  openings  occur  on  rocky  places,  commanding 
fine  views  across  the  cultivated  valley  to  the  ocean. 
These  I  found  by  the  tracks  were  favorite  outlooks 
and  resting-places  for  the  wild  animals — bears, 
wolves,  foxes,  wildcats,  etc. — which  abound  here, 


378  THE   MOUNTAINS    OF   CALIFORNIA 

and  would  have  to  be  taken  into  account  in  the  es- 
tablishment of  bee-ranches.  In  the  deepest  thick- 
ets I  found  wood-rat  villages — groups  of  huts  four 
to  six  feet  high,  built  of  sticks  and  leaves  in  rough, 
tapering  piles,  like  musk-rat  cabins.  I  noticed  a 
good  many  bees,  too,  most  of  them  wild.  The  tame 
honey-bees  seemed  languid  and  wing-weary,  as  if 
they  had  come  all  the  way  up  from  the  flowerless 
valley. 

After  reaching  the  summit  I  had  time  to  make 
only  a  hasty  survey  of  the  basin,  now  glowing  in 
the  sunset  gold,  before  hastening  down  into  one  of 
the  tributary  canons  in  search  of  water.  Emerg- 
ing from  a  particularly  tedious  breadth  of  chapar- 
ral, I  found  myself  free  and  erect  in  a  beautiful 
park-like  grove  of  Mountain  Live  Oak,  where  the 
ground  was  planted  with  aspidiums  and  brier-roses, 
while  the  glossy  foliage  made  a  close  canopy  over- 
head, leaving  the  gray  dividing  trunks  bare  to  show 
the  beauty  of  their  interlacing  arches.  The  bot- 
tom of  the  canon  was  dry  where  I  first  reached  it, 
but  a  bunch  of  scarlet  mimulus  indicated  water  at 
no  great  distance,  and  I  soon  discovered  about  a 
bucketful  in  a  hollow  of  the  rock.  This,  however, 
was  full  of  dead  bees,  wasps,  beetles,  and  leaves, 
well  steeped  and  simmered,  and  would,  therefore,  re- 
quire boiling  and  filtering  through  fresh  charcoal 
before  it  could  be  made  available.  Tracing  the  dry 
channel  about  a  mile  farther  down  to  its  junction 
with  a  larger  tributary  canon,  I  at  length  discov- 
ered a  lot  of  boulder  pools,  clear  as  crystal,  brim- 
ming full,  and  linked  together  by  glistening  stream- 
^ets  just  strong  enough  to  sing  audibly.   Flowers  in 


A     BEE-KEEPER'S     CABIN.-BURRIELIA   (ABOVE).- MADIA    (BELOW), 


380  THE  MOUNTAINS    OF   CALIFOKNIA 

full  bloom  adorned  their  margins,  lilies  ten  feet  high, 
Larkspur,  columbines,  and  luxuriant  ferns,  leaning 
and  overarching  in  lavish  abundance,  while  a  noble 
old  Live  Oak  spread  its  rugged  arms  over  all.  Here 
I  camped,  making  my  bed  on  smooth  cobblestones. 

Next  day,  in  the  channel  of  a  tributary  that 
heads  on  Mount  San  Antonio,  I  passed  about  fif- 
teen or  twenty  gardens  like  the  one  in  which  I 
s|(1pt — lilies  in  every  one  of  them,  in  the  full  pomp 
of  bloom.  My  third  camp  was  made  near  the  middle 
of  the  general  basin,  at  the  head  of  a  long  system  of 
cascades  from  ten  to  200  feet  high,  one  following  the 
other  in  close  succession  down  a  rocky,  inaccessible 
canon,  making  a  total  descent  of  nearly  1700  feet. 
Above  the  cascades  the  main  stream  passes  through 
a  series  of  open,  sunny  levels,  the  largest  of  which 
are  about  an  acre  in  size,  where  the  wild  bees  and 
their  companions  were  feasting  on  a  showy  growth 
of  zauschneria,  painted  cups,  and  monardella ;  and 
gray  squirrels  were  busy  harvesting  the  burs  of  the 
Douglas  Spruce,  the  only  conifer  I  met  in  the  basin. 

The  eastern  slopes  of  the  basin  are  in  every  way 
similar  to  those  we  have  described,  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  other  portions  of  the  range.  From 
the  highest  summit,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the 
landscape  was  one  vast  bee-pasture,  a  rolling  wil- 
derness of  honey-bloom,  scarcely  broken  by  bits  of 
forest  or  the  rocky  outcrops  of  hilltops  and  ridges. 

Behind  the  San  Bernardino  Range  lies  the  wild 
"  sage-brush  country,"  bounded  on  the  east  by  the 
Colorado  River,  and  extending  in  a  general  north- 
erly direction  to  Nevada  and  along  the  eastern  base 
of  the  Sierra  beyond  Mono  Lake. 


THE  BEE-PASTURES  381 

The  greater  portion  of  this  immense  region,  in- 
cluding Owen's  Valley,  Death  Valley,  and  the  Sink 
of  the  Mohave,  the  area  of  which  is  nearly  one  fifth 
that  of  the  entire  State,  is  usually  regarded  as  a 
desert,  not  because  of  any  lack  in  the  soil,  but  for 
want  of  rain,  and  rivers  available  for  irrigation. 
Very  little  of  it,  however,  is  desert  in  the  eyes  of  a 
bee. 

Looking  now  over  all  the  available  pastures  of 
California,  it  appears  that  the  business  of  bee- 
keeping is  still  in  its  infancy.  Even  in  the  more 
enterprising  of  the  southern  counties,  where  so  vig- 
orous a  beginning  has  been  made,  less  than  a  tenth 
of  their  honey  resources  have  as  yet  been  devel- 
oped; while  in  the  Great  Plain,  the  Coast  Ranges, 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the  northern  region  about 
Mount  Shasta,  the  business  can  hardly  be  said  to 
exist  at  all.  What  the  limits  of  its  developments 
in  the  future  may  be,  with  the  advantages  of 
cheaper  transportation  and  the  invention  of  better 
methods  in  general,  it  is  not  easy  to  guess.  Nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  we  able  to  measure  the 
influence  on  bee  interests  likely  to  follow  the  de- 
struction of  the  forests,  now  rapidly  falling  before 
fire  and  the  ax.  As  to  the  sheep  evil,  that  can 
hardly  become  greater  than  it  is  at  the  present 
day.  In  short,  notwithstanding  the  wide-spread 
deterioration  and  destruction  of  every  kind  already 
effected,  California,  with  her  incomparable  climate 
and  flora,  is  still,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  best  of  all 
the  bee-lands  of  the  world. 


INDEX 


Adams,  Mount,  22 
Alaska,  ice-land  of,  22-26 
Alpenglow,  57 
Alps,  glaciers  in,  21 
Antelope,  323 


Baker,  Mount,  22 
Bee-pastures,  338-381 

Coast  Range,  350 

Famines  in  dry  years,  368 

Great  Central  Plain,  339-350 

Honey  season,  346 

Ranch  on  San  Gabriel  Range, 
369 

Shasta,  Mount,  359-362 

Sierra  region,  354 

Southern  California,  366-376 
Bees,  first  swarms  brought  into 

California,  347,   367 
Big  Meadows,  126 
Big  Tree  (Sequoia  gigantea), 

179-200 
Big  Tuolumne  Meadows,  51,  91 
Birch    (Betula   occidentalis), 

223 
Birds,  276-299.     See  also  Ouzel 
Black  Mountain  Glacier,  28-34 
Bloody  Canon,  83-96 
Bower  Cascade,  87 


Canons :  Continued. 

Eaton  Canon,  373-380 

Forest-trees,  8 

Indian  Canon,  73 

Park  valleys,  l! 
Carson  Pass,  74 
Cassiope  in  the  "land  of 

desolation, ' '  59 
Castle  Peak,  66 
Cathedral  Peak,  66 
Caves,  329-336 

Cave  City  cave,  visit  to,  333- 
336 
Cedar-trees.     See  Forests 
Central  Valley: 

Bee-pastures,   339-350 

General  view  of,  4 

Industries,  348 

Plant  conditions,  early,  339 

Present  condition,  349 

Seasons,  343 

Size  of  basin,  3 
Cinder   Cone,  last   Sierra  erup- 
tion, 13 
Cloud's  Rest,  50 
Coast  Range,  3,  49 

Bee-pastures,  350 

Height,  3 
Conness,  Mount,  66 
Cook 's  Inlet,  glaciers,  22 
Crow,  Clark,  237 
Crown  of  the  Sierra,  44,  52,  6(i 


Canon  Creek,  87 
Canons : 

Bloody  Canon,  83-96 

Depth,  5,  69 


Dana,  Mount,  12,  66 
Death  Valley,  381 
Deer,  9,  81 

Three  species   found  in  Cali- 
fornia, 323 


383 


384 


INDEX 


Diamond  Cascade,  86 

Donner  Lake,  100 

Douglas,  David,  botanist,  139 

Sugar  Pine  discovered  by,  152 
Douglas  Spruce    (Pseudotsuga 

Douglasii),  168 
Douglas  squirrel,  226-242 
Dwarf  Pine  (Pinus  albicaulis), 

211-215 

E 

Eaton  Canon,  373-380 
Emerald  Pool,  113 


Fall  Eiver,  259 
Feather  River,  260,  261 
Fiords,  formation  and  exten- 
sion, 26 
Floods,  258-270 

Greatest  floods  occur  in  win- 
ter, 260 
View  of  a  flood-storm,  261- 
269 
Flowers,  338-381 
Foot-hills  of  the  Sierra,  9,  11, 

325-337 
Forests,  139-225 

Big  Tree  (Sequoia  gigantea), 

179-200 
Birch   (Betula  occidentalis), 

223 
Distribution   in  belts,   140- 

144 
Douglas  Spruce  (Pseudotsuga 

Douglasii),  168 
Dwarf   Pine    (Pinus  albicau- 
lis), 211-215,  246 
Finest  coniferous  forests  in 

the  world,  8,  139 
Hemlock  Spruce  (Tsuga  Pat- 

toniana),  207-211 
Incense  Cedar   (Libocedrus 

decurrens),  169 
Juniper,  or  Red  Cedar  (Juni- 
perus    occidentalis),    204- 
207,  246 


Forests:  Continued. 

Moraines  indicated  by  Sierra 
forests,  144 

Mountain  Pine  (Pinus  mon- 
ticnla),  203 

Needle  Pine  (Pinus  arista t a), 
216-219 

Nut  Pine  (Pinus  mono- 
phylla),  219-225 

Nut  Pine  (Pinus  Sabiniana), 
146-148 

Nut  Pine  (Pinus  tubercu- 
lata),  148-152 

Nutmeg  Tree  (Torreya  Cali- 
fornia), 223 

Oaks,  224 

Openness  of  the  Sierra  woods, 
140 

Pines  best  interpreters  of 
winds,  248 

Red  Cedar  (Juniperus  occi- 
dentalis),  204-207,   246 

Red  Fir    (Abies  magnifica), 
173-179 

Redwood,  351 

Seed-gathering,  235,  236 

Sequoias  (Sequoia  gigantea), 
179-200 

Silver  Fir,  Magnificent,  or 
Red  Fir  (Abies  magnifica) , 
173-179 

Silver  Fir,  White  (Abies  con- 
color),  172 

Species  of  coniferous  trees  in 
California  greater  in  num- 
ber than  elsewhere,  251 

Sugar  Pine  (Pinus  Lamber- 
tiana),  152-162,  234 

Thunder-storms,   271-275 

Two-leaved,  or  Tamarack, 
Pine  (Pinus  contorta,  var. 
Murrayana) ,   200-203 

View  in  Sierra  forest,  141, 
145 

White  Pine  (Pinus  flexilis), 
215 

Wind-storms,  244-257 

Yellow,  or  Silver,  Pine  (Pinus 
ponderosa),   162-167 


INDEX 


385 


Forests:  Continued. 

Yew  {Taxus  brevifolia),  223 
Yosemite  Pine,  165 


Gibbs,  Mount,  12,  66 
Glacial  period,  15-19 
Glacier  Bay,  24,  26 
Glacier  country,  map  of,  23 
Glacier  lakes.     See  Lakes,  Gla- 
cier 
Glacier  meadows,  124-138 
Glaciers: 

Alaska,  22-26 
Alps,  number  in,  21 
Black  Mountain  Glacier,  dis- 
covery of,  28-34 
Chambers  of  a  glacier,  33 
Height  above  sea-level  at 

which  they  melt,  21 
Icebergs  of  the  Pacific  Coast, 

24 
Location  of  residual,  on  the 

Sierra,  20,  28 
Lyell  Glacier,  110 
Muir  Glacier,  25,  34 
Pacific  Coast,  21-28 
Polished  rock  surfaces  on  the 

Sierra,  26,  55 
Rate  of  motion,  34 
Sierra  glaciers  unknown  prior 

to  1871,  28 
Traces  of  ancient  glaciers, 

26-28 
Work  of,  in  fashioning  the 

mountain,  15-19 
World  conditions,  20 
Goat,  Rocky  Mountain,  322 
Gold  region,  9,  325-328,  332 
Granite  of  the  southern 
Sierra,  11 

H 

Hanging  meadows,  136-138 
Hemlock  Spruce  (Tsuga  Patto- 
niana),  207-211 


High  Sierra,  near  view  of,  48- 

73 
Holkam  Bay,  24 
Honey.     See  Bee-pastures 
Hood,  Mount,  22 
Hot  springs  on  Lassen's  Butte, 

12 


Icebergs  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  24 

Icy  Cape,  24 

Incense  Cedar    (Libocedrus  de- 

currens),  169 
Independence  Lake,  100 
Indian  Canon,  73 
Indians : 

Digger,  295 

Hunting  of  wild  sheep,  304, 
320-322 

Mono,  92,  95 

Pah  Utes,  78,  80 

Pitt  River,  13 
Inyo  Range,  68 


Jefferson,  Mount,  22 

Johnson  Pass,  74 

Juniper,   or   Red   Cedar    (Juni 

perus  occidentalis),  204- 

207 

K 

Kearsarge  Pass,  75,  76 
Knoxville,  260,  261 


Lake  Hollow,  100 

Lakes,  glacier,  98-124 

Birth,  growth,  and  length  of 

life,  103-105 
Burial  of,  by  snow,  38-41 
Death  of  a  lake,  107,  108 
Donner  Lake,  100 
Hoffman  Creek,  101 
Illilouette  River  basiu,  101 
Independence  Lake,  100 


386 


INDEX 


Lakes,  glacier :  Continued. 

Influence  of  streams  as  lake- 
fillers,  105 
Lake-line  rising,  108 
Largest,  is  Lake  Tahoe,  100 
Location  at  top  of  mountain, 

99,  106 
Merced  River  basin,  101,  102 
Mono  Lake,  78,  89 
Moraine  Lake,  88,  90 
Nevada  River  basin,  101 
Number  in  the  Sierra,  98 
Oldest,  is  Shadow  Lake,  109 
Orange  Lake,  116 
Red  Lake,  86 

Shadow  Lake,  oldest  and  low- 
est, 109 
Sierra  lakes  are  all  glacier 

lakes,  109 
Starr  King  Lake,  118 
Tahoe  Lake,  74,  100 
Tenaya  River  basin,  27,  101, 

102 
Yosemite  Creek,  101 
Lassen's  Butte,  height  of,  12 
Lava  covering  of  the  northern 

Sierra,  11,  12 
Lyell  Glacier,  110 
Lyell,  Mount,  48 

M 

McCloud  River,  source,  259 
Maclure  Glacier,  34 
Magnificent  Silver  Fir,  or  Red 
Fir   (Abies  magnified),  173 
Mammoth  Mountain,  66 
Maps: 

Glacier  country,  23 

Sierra  Nevada,  7 

Yosemite  Valley,  77 
Mastodon  and  elephant  remains, 

331 
Meadows,  glacier,  124-138 
Merced  River,  sources,  20,  68 
Minarets,  The,  66 
Miners  in  the  gold  region  of 

the  Sierra,  328 
Modoc  lava  beds,  330 


Mohave  Desert,  381 
Mono  Desert,  55,  95 
Mono  Lake,  78,  89 
Mono  Pass,  51 

Best-known  pass,  76 
Description  of,  82-96 
Height,  78 
Location,  76 
Mono  Valley,  66 
Moraine  Lake,  88,  90 
Moraines : 

Correspondence    between 

moraines  and  shadows,  32 
Indicated   by   Sierra    forests, 

144 
Preservation  of  ancient,  28 
Mountain  Pine   (Pinus  monti- 

cola),  203 
Muir  Glacier  in  Alaska,  25,  34 
Murphy's  Camp,  in  Calaveras 

County,  325 
Music,   effect   of,   on  birds  and 
squirrels,  240,  241 

N 

Needle  Pine  (Pinus  aristata), 

216-219 
Nevada  Falls,  51,  113 
Nut  Pine   (Pinus  monophylla), 

219-225 
Nut  Pine    (Pinus  Sabiniana), 

146 
Nut  Pine   (Pinus  tuberculata) , 

148-152 
Nutmeg  Tree  (Torreya  Calif  or- 

nica),  223 


Oaks,  224 

Orange  Lake,   characteristic 

features,   116-118 
Ord,  Mount,  66 
Ouzel,  276-299 
Appearance,  276 
Distribution  of   the  species, 
296,  298 


INDEX 


::s7 


Ouzel:  Continued. 

Diving  and  feeding,  277,  284, 
286 

Flights,  tracing  the  streams, 
288 

Food,  283 

Nest,  289-292 

Songs,  282 
Owen  's  River,  sources,  20,  68 
Owen  's  Valley,  66,  381 


Pacheeo  Pass,  4 

Park  valleys  of  the  Sierra,  6 

Passes : 

Carson,  74 

Difference     between     eastern 
and  western   portions,   80 

Glaciers  the  pass-makers,  81 

Height  of,  74 

Highest   traveled  pass,  the 
Kearsarge,  76 

Johnson,  74 

Kearsarge,  75,  76 

Leading  features  and  dis- 
tribution, 74-96 

Mono,  51,  75-78,  82-96 

Scenery,  82 

Sonora,  74 

Virginia  Creek,  75 
Pine-trees.     See  Forests 
Pitt,  Mount,  12,  22 
Plant  life,  338-381 
Pohono  Creek,  source,  101 
Polished   rock   surfaces   on   the 

Sierra,  26,  55 
Prince  William  Sound,  glaciers, 
22 


Quartz-mining,  9 


Rainier,  Mount,  height  and 

glaciers,  22 
Rainy  season,  343 


Red    Cedar    (Jitniprrus  occulta 

talis),  204     207 
Red    Fir   {Abies  magnified), 

173-179 
Red  Lake,  85,  89 
Red  Mountain,  28-30 
Redwood  forests,  351 
Bitter,  Mount : 

Ascent  of,  53-73 

Height,  53 

View  from  top,  66 
River  floods,  2r>x-270 
Rivers: 

Ancient   river  channels,  325- 
327 

Burial  of,  by  snow,  38-41 

Canon  Creek,  87 

Dead  Rivers  of  California, 
326 

Fall  River,  259 

Feather  River,  260,  261 

Cold  gravels  of  ancient  chan- 
nels, 327 

McCloud  River,  259 

Merced  River,  sources,  20,  68 

Owen's  River,  sources,  20,  68 

Pohono  Creek,  source,  101 

Rush  Creek,  61,  73 

San    Joaquin    River,   sources, 
20,  61,  68 

Shasta  River,  259 

Tuolumne  River,  sources,  20, 
49,  68,  73 

Yuba  River,  261 
Rush  Creek,  61,  73 


Sage-brush  country,  380 
St.  Elias,  Mount,  25 
St.  Helens,  Mount,  22 
San   Gabriel    Mountains,   excur- 
sion into,  372-380 
San  Gabriel  Valley,  365 
San  Joaquin  River: 

Sources,  2(),  til,  68 

Tracing  the  South  Fork,  30$ 
Seasons,  343 
Sequoia  seeds,  price  of,  236 


388 


INDEX 


Sequoias    (Sequoia   gigantea), 

179-200 
Shadow  Lake,  characteristic 

features,  109-116 
Shadows,     moraines,     mountain 

forms,     and    snow-banners, 

32,  47 
Shasta,  Mount: 

Bee-pastures,  359-362 
Glaciers,  21,  35 
Height,  12 

Snow-bouud  on,  306,  307 
Storms,  local,  364 
Timber  line,  143 
Volcanic  origin,  12,  14 
Shasta  Eiver,  259 
Sheep,  domestic,  destructive  ac- 
tion of,  on  vegetation,  349, 

355 
Sheep,  Wild  (Ovis  montana), 

300-324 
Appearance,  302 
Compared    with    domestic 

breeds,  302,  304 
Compared  with  the  argali,  301 
Diving  habits,  317,  318 
Earliest      mention      of     wild 

sheep  in  America,   304 
Habits,  feeding-grounds,  and 

young,  305,  307 
Head  of  Merino  ram  (domes- 
tic), 309 
Head  of  Eocky  Mountain 

sheep,  311 
Horns,  302,  317 
Hunted  by  the  Indians,  304, 

320-322 
Measurements,  303 
Mountaineering  feats,   312- 

320 
Eange,  301,  323 
Species  best  known,  300 
Sierra  Crown,  44,  52,  66 
Sierra  Nevada  Mountains: 
Bee-pastures,  354 
Distant  view  of,  4 
General    considerations,    1-19 
Glaciers,  work  of,  15-19 
Height,  5 


Sierra  Nevada:  Continued. 
Map,  7 
Near  view  of  the  High  Sierra 

48-73 
Eange  of  Light,  5 
Volcanic   origin,   11-15 
See  also  Forests;  Lakes;  Eiv- 
ers;  etc. 
Silver  Fir,  Magnificent,  or  Eed 
Fir  (Abie?  magnified),  173 
Silver  Fir,  White   (Abies  eon- 
color),  172 
Silver  Mountain,  66 
Snow: 

Burial  of  lakes  and  rivers, 

38-41 
Depth,  37 
First  storms.  36 
Snow-banners,  41-47 
Snow-flowers,  work  done  by, 

17-19 
Sonora  Pass,  74 
South  Lyell  Glacier,  110 
Spruce-trees.     See  Forests 
Squirrel,  Douglas: 
Appearance,  227 
Extent  of  range,  227,  238 
Food,  233 

Friendliness  of,  237 
Indian  name,  228 
Music,  effect  of,  on  squirrel, 

239 
Eelation  to  Eed  Squirrel,  227 
Work  and  ways,  229-240 
Starr    King,    Lake,    character- 
istic features,  118-124 
Storms : 

Flood-storm,  261-269 
Local,  on  Mount  Shasta,  364 
Thunder-storms,   271-275 
Wind-storm,  244-257 
Sugar   Pine    (Pinus  Lamber- 
tiana),  152-162 


Tahkoo  Inlet,  24 
Tahoe,  Lake,  largest  of  the 
Sierra  lakes,  74,  100 


INDEX 


389 


Tenaya,  Lake,  27,  101,  102 
Three  Sisters  Mountain,  12,  22 
Thunder  Bay,  24 
Thunder-storms,    271-275 
Tower  Peak,  66 
Trees.     See  Forests 
Tuolumne  River,  sources,  20,  49, 

68,  73 
Tuolumne  Soda  Springs,  127 
Two-leaved,  or  Tamarack,  Pine 

(Piitus  contorta,  var.  Mar- 

rayana),  200-203 
Tyndall,  Mount,  76 


Vegetation,  338-381 
Vernal  Falls,  51,  113 
Virgina  Creek  Pass,  75 
Volcanic  origin  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,   11-15 


W 

Water-ouzel.     See  Ouzel 
White    Pine  (Pinus flexilis),2]~> 
White   Silver   Fir    (Abies   con- 
color),  172 
Whitney,    Mount,   12,  53 
Height,  12 
No  glaciers,  35 
Wind-storms  in  the  forests, 
244-257 


Yakutat  Bay,  26 

Yellow,  or  Silver,  Pine    (Pinus 

ponderosa),   162-167 
Yew  (Taxus  brevifolia),  223 
Yosemite  Pine,  165 
Yosemite  Valley: 

Lake  of  ancient  days,  105 

Map  of,  77 
Yuba  River.  261 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


^W    VtUU  c 


i) 


1986 


JAN  3  0 


198? 


r§  s  m 


PR  1  0  2001 
MAR  j  5  REC'D 

APR  1 1  2005 

JUL  2  7  2005 


f 


3  1158  01118  5864 


REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A/y       001  335  597        9 


